This is it. No more therapy. No more blogging about what I think about him or what I’ve said or what he’s said. No more super early mornings, getting to work late, being secretive about where I’ve been.
No more amazing great big realizations. No more having a safe space three times a week just for me where I could be what I wanted to be and please no one. Although I think I did want to impress my therapist but still.
No more support, no more analysis, no more someone wholeheartedly listening to just me. It is over.
I cried. The whole session. I didn’t wanna make lots of noises so I kept making jerky movements trying to suppress the bursts of cry. It was so sad. I am sad.
I said I felt like a failure because I kept talking about my housemates, work, my relationship, people at work, people in my life, blah blah blah, instead of getting down to it and talking about the abuse and the rape and the domestic violence and the bullying; issues that I REALLY would have wanted to sort out.
He said it takes time. I guess he meant takes time to build up trust to that level where you can disclose, but I then started feeling cheated. I had been offered 18 months and so if they knew an average psychotherapy program lasts years, why offer me so little when they’d know a regular person will take a year to start trusting their therapist????
I am glad I went though. I am glad I finally trusted and liked a man on a non-sexual level in a very close relationship; I mean that I’d tell him a lot about myself, but then wouldn’t sexualize the relationship, so that’s new.
It wasn’t an ordinary relationship though. It was an ambivalent therapist-patient relationship where I lay down on a couch and he sat behind me, so it felt like I was all alone but still watched. Very bizarre, but I got used to it. At first it was hard for sure!
I never really did trust him. I think I hid things because I didn’t want him to judge, and I wanted to impress him, and I think maybe sometimes I said things I thought he wanted to hear.
We had a disagreement once over the topic of child sexuality and I was so shocked and disgusted I refused to talk and we never went back to that topic.
I hardly remember everything we talked about….It is also bizarre how every day I’d walk out that door and forget what we talked about! Or, rather, what I had said.
I feel like a cigarette soooooo bad. I quit smoking about a month ago after realizing that I’d smoked almost for 15 years on and off, and that it had to end. I’m now so distressed and upset and lonely and sad and … confused. I want something to calm me. A tub of Ben&Jerry’s didn’t help. I’m meant to work but I can’t, I keep thinking about my huge loss and the enormity of the situation.
It will be an eternity. I will never ever speak with him again. I hate eternity. The concept gives me panic attacks and serious feelings of not being able to breathe.
I have lost so much in my life and now I have yet another loss to deal with and it fucking hurts so fucking bad I want to scream. But instead, I’ll just…calm down like nice girls do and work as that’s what I must do and I always do what’s expected of me.