What I refuse
Last year [N] people applied for The Year. [N] were offered a conversation. [N] were taken. That is not a marketing sentence, it is arithmetic — there are six places and one of me.
You are in acute crisis. This is not the right help and taking your money would be the wrong thing. I will say what I think you need instead.
Something in your application belongs with a doctor or a psychiatrist first. Come back afterwards if you still want to.
You want to be managed. You are looking for someone to run your life better than you run it. I will not do that, and after a year of it you would be worse off than you are now.
You cannot protect the hour. Not “will try to”. A year of moved appointments is a wasted year and you will blame yourself for it.
You would be borrowing the money, or paying it would change how your family lives. No.
You want a second year before you have had the first. There is no second year.
You want me to make your decisions. The whole point is that by month twelve nobody makes them but you.
I would not carry you the way I would carry my own child. This is the last one and the only one I cannot explain to you properly. It is still the one that decides most of them.
I write you one paragraph telling you why. Nobody gets a form, and nobody is put on a list.
If the reason was timing rather than fit, I say so, and you are welcome to apply again.
It is the cheapest hour either of us will ever save.