famous psychologist

anonymous asked:

How long is too long in therapy? I am so scared that I'm taking too long to get better.

that’s a tough one, anon- different people need different things. A really famous psychologist, Christopher Martell, once told me (okay, he told like a whole room of people, but I was there) that a therapist and client should “check in” every 10 sessions to make sure they are still on track, because it’s easy to get derailed from the client’s therapy goals, or not be focused enough in each session to make progress. If you feel like your session time is too scattered across different topics, or that you change directions a lot, or that the approach you and your therapist are taking isn’t working, then a “check in” is probably a good idea to make sure you’re moving in the right direction. In any case, be kind to yourself. Making big changes in your life is hard and does take time and effort. 

Things I Learned In AP Psychology

- All of the famous psychologist somehow manage to all be friends and go to the same school
- Sigmund Freud has a problem with sexual ideas

Creepypasta #597: The Birthday Book

Story length: Super Long

I do not like to label people as ‘crazy’, but I feel comfortable labelling Morgan as ‘troubled’.

Morgan nibbled on her pen while studying her notes. I watched her green eyes stream back and forth, absorbing old information from lectures in a desperate attempt to cram for finals. She was a distraction, a beautiful distraction. My grades began slipping below my standards after I started dating her.

She accompanied myself in Hodges Library, while I continued research for my Thesis. My normal routine for research was one of solitude. When it was necessary to spend hours poring through academic journals and textbooks, the fourth floor of Hodges Library was my favorite location. Often times, I would spend the majority of my weekend afternoons, isolated from people, absorbed in my notes and textbooks. Morgan was a welcomed change to my routine.

Academic papers about mental disorders, notes about schizophrenia, and textbooks about famous psychologists were scattered across the oak table, waiting for me to review them, but my gaze was set upon Morgan. Her cherry flavored hair, which matched the color of her lipstick, streamed across her face and curled over her left eye. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she chewed her pen.

“It’s rude to stare.” Morgan said. She shifted her posture in a more erect position and met my gaze, resting her hands on the table.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I’m not mad,” Morgan said, pressing her lips together and clinching her jaw. “I’m upset.”

“Why?”

“You said I was a burden!”

“I didn’t say you were a burden, I said driving an hour away to pick you up was a burden.”

Her mouth furled with contempt. Before I had the chance to apologize, she began packing her belongings. Papers seemed to fly from her hand into binders faster than I expected. “I’m going home,” Morgan said as she flung her backpack full of binders over her shoulder. “Are you done yet? You’ve been here for hours.”

“No, I still have a lot to go through” I said.

I watched her shuffle away without a farewell hug or kiss.

If she is still mad at me tomorrow, then my birthday is going to suck, I thought to myself.

Hours slipped away. My eyes became glossy and the muscles in my hand cramped from writing in a notebook. My phone beeped, signalling a text message had been received. I looked at my phone.

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