It has varied since 1985.

First, I was weekly.

Then I was inpatient, so, daily.

Then it was back to weekly.

Then it was back to inpatient, again. Daily.

Weekly.

Inpatient for three+ years. Every other day? A different atmosphere than the very-much-for-profit, great food, intense ‘mental health clinics’ of my previous incarceration.

Weekly. Rigorous inpatient therapy for seven days. Weekly. Biweekly. Monthly. I’ve not seen my therapist in four months. And no plans to see anyone, now.

I have nothing to go over, now. A year ago? A little longer? The rigorous therapy - I came clean, a confession. I spoke of the unspoken. I grieved the dead and buried them. I socialized more often.

Things got better.

I had a touch of full blown mania in August of last year but it was short-lived.

I still have fears. The abandonment thing.

I just don’t feeling a need for therapy, now. I am better.

So, no more therapy, just now.