The quest for a good therapist

Finding a therapist is a bit like playing Russian roulette: You don't know if you've found the right one until after you pull the trigger.

I chose a fairly large practice within walking distance from the house, figuring it'd save gas and it would be easy to run away if I had made a bad choice. Unfortunately, after I had gone through the entire process on the phone of registering, explaining my problem in triplicate, and assuring them that I was not about to kill myself, I found out that no one at that office takes my insurance. So rather than go through the whole process all over again, I'm going to their other office, which is about 10 or 15 minutes away by car. At least gas has dropped $1 a gallon in the last few months.

My mood has brightened somewhat the past week or so, perhaps because Rachel and I've been walking over to Evangeline's school in the afternoons to pick her up, giving us a 3-mile walk four days a week with plenty of sunshine, or perhaps for some other reason.

This brightened mood seems to have helped Evangeline, as well; she's been in a black mood a lot lately, and I suspect that part of it is due to me. No one suffers from depression alone, I've noticed. It's an emotional vacuum that pulls everyone around down as well.My own unmotivatedness lingers, however, in various forms.