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Writing as cheap therapy? Count me in! In my vast experience in this area, I long ago decided that spilling my guts out to myself was a lot cheaper than going to a therapist (the cost of pencils and legal pads or, more recently, software upgrades, notwithstanding). It also takes a lot less effort and can be at least as therapeutic for some.

My family sent me to a child psychologist when I was in my mid teens. Yes, I did have a serious problem, but it was not something that was widely discussed at that time, so the family not only didn't consider the possibility, but none of the therapists they sent me to did either.

I was an underachiever in school, seemed to have no interest in most of my classes (but did very well in others). I didn't study, got more C and D grades than anything; they didn't understand it and assumed that I must be mentally retarded (my mother would have been happy with that; it would have been better than trying to find excuses for me when discussing me with her friends). So my first experience was an IQ test administered by my high school psychologist. Mom wouldn't tell me the results (she said she was afraid it would make me vain), only that my IQ was a lot higher than my sister's. My sister, 17 years older than me, later told me that she'd never had an IQ test!

Now they knew I had the mental capacity, and was even gifted (but excruciatingly bored, which they never figured out). Still, I was an underachiever, so they sent me to another psychologist to find out if perhaps I was mentally ill.

My boyfriend's father was a psychologist and my boyfriend prepared me for the kind of questions to expect, the kind of pictures to draw if I was asked, for example, to draw a picture of my house or my family, and other helpful tips. The therapist also spent time with my mother. The result: in the therapist's opinion, I was a perfectly normal, well-adjusted 16 year old, but my mother had serious problems. (That part was true, but that's another story).

I've gone for short-term counseling a number of times: a couple of times when I was in college, but most of the time during the phase of my life when my hobby seems to have been getting married and divorced (perfectly normal and well-adjusted? I don't think so), and not a one of the therapists saw through me or provided an opinion that was contrary to my own conclusions.

My confidence in therapy (or at least some of its practitioners) was first eroded when I was in high school. My very best friend's father was

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