1) Had a bad first session with a therapist last week. She was very young, so I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt and going with... maybe she is just still learning. I didn't want to be all "classic BPD!" and give up after one week, so I made another appointment to give her another chance. Therapist shopping sucks. I always kind of hope it'll be the first one I try, you know?

2) Am anxious as fuck about it all week. I am SO DETERMINED to give it another shot but whenever I think about going back I feel worried.

3) Last night felt dizzy and nauseous and realized I am literally sick with worry about this. So I cancelled. She's not The One For Me. And that doesn't make me "typical BPD" or a bad person. She's not right for me.

4) Under 24 hours cancellation, assumed I'd get slapped with a cancellation fee. She slaps me with the entire $135 fee, which I can't submit to my insurance, either, because it's not for a session. In her e-mail, she says "I hope you find what you're looking for". Um. Well. That doesn't sound condescending and smarmy at all?

5) I go check my billing, she has ALSO gone ahead and given me... wheeee... my first Official BPD diagnoses. I've talked with loads of therapists about my "BPD Traits" for ages, but I don't love diagnoses, and me and this therapist even *talked* the first session about how she doesn't like to send diagnoses to the insurance company and mostly sends out "generalized anxiety" diagnoses - she has lots of BPD trait people, but she agreed that often it's best to work through that stuff without the burden of a diagnoses. That's part of the reason I liked her at first - that's also important to me.

But. After one really bad session, where I felt kind of trampled on and intruded on and not super safe - wut up, I'm officially BPD. Which is causing a fuck ton more anxiety than I guessed it would. I've known I was BPD for over a year. How the hell should an official number (301.83 for the curious) make me more anxious about that? The hell!

I'm BPD and *poor*! 

The cinnamon roll and Ingrid Michaelson at the coffee shop isn't helping yet, but maybe I just need another cinnamon roll. Phooey!