She’s always asking where I’m going when I go to therapy. It makes the whole thing so much worse.

I confide with my mother about how disillusioned I am with therapy. She gives me a hug and basically just listens for about a quarter of an hour. Then we have a whole discussion about what therapy is, what it isn’t, and that a specific therapist is not a reflection on therapy in general — in any profession some people are just not good.

So I feel better about giving it another shot. My parents will do more research this time and my mother promises to come in with me for the first appointment.

Still, there’s a dread that grips me from the tips of my toes to the top of my frizz. What if this one won’t work out either?

Miss Lev talked me into keeping a diary. I have the coolest notebook ever; it has different sensory stuff like sequins and fur. Occasionally, I use regular papers instead to really go loose with my feelings and then I’ll rip them up afterward.

Sometimes all I want to do is cry. I often cry for hours into my pillow.

I also talk to Hashem a lot. I tell Him all my feelings, even that sometimes I don’t feel like talking to Him at all.

My relationship with Hashem has gone up and down throughout all my pain, but I feel that even the downs will ultimately strengthen my relationship with Him.