You don't know what you want... 'til it's found

Last week, I blogged a bit about some tension I was having with my therapist. Here's what I wrote at the time:

"Three years ago, when she was my counselor at the residential program, she confiscated four pocket knives that I was occasionally using to cut myself. I don't cut myself anymore so this summer, I asked for them back. They were gone. Someone had taken them from the "locked" medicine cabinet that only staff have the keys to. Thanks guys. To replace the knives would cost about $200. She said she'd talk to the director (who hates me and kicked me out two years ago) about getting my money back. For the last six months, she's chickened out. Finally today, I told her that if she didn't talk to the guy in the next two weeks, I was going to skip two sessions with her to recoup the $200. I told her that I didn't think it was fair that she should lose the business and I should lose the therapy, but what other choice do I have??"

My husband was NOT happy about this decision. He said that the only person I was punishing was myself.

My doc wasn't crazy about my decision either. He thought I shouldn't penalize my therapist since she's not the one who lost the knives. He suggested that I should write a letter to the director of the residential program.

Just Me had some similar advice:

"I wonder... if maybe the therapist is in a bad situation but doesn't have the balls to say THAT either. The gripe really is between you and the hospital. The therapist is the go-between. You can't really blame the messenger, right? So suck it up yourself and go to the hospital... and ask for your personal property... [and] put in a deadline... If [your therapist] doesn't want to do it, she should say that. If she does, why doesn't she do it? you should GO to the two sessions but NOT PAY."

Oh and there was an added bonus: I felt like a complete LOSER, blogging about how much I missed my knives. How unfair... some nice people tried to keep you from cutting yourself. Boo hoo you big baby.

Well... last week, (only two days after the conversation with my therapist, by the way) she called and said that she'd finally spoken to the director. He promised to look for the knives and if he couldn't find them, he'd cut me a check.

"I know you didn't want to do this, so I really appreciate it." I said. "I just didn't want to have this between us any longer."

"Actually, I thought you handled it pretty well." She said. "You were pretty skilled about it."

Really? Glad she thought so.

So I was getting pretty happy about the situation. Soon, I'd have a big fat $200 check! And the check is from someone I truly hate. Beautiful.

Then today, when I met with my therapist, she said that she had good news.

"[The director] told me that he thinks he found your pocket knives!"

Yay. Four pocket knives. I think I really just wanted the check.