I’m struggling right now, I’m really, really struggling. I’ve had enough of bpd. I hate it. I hate how it makes me think, how it makes me behave, how it takes over my thoughts and twists them into something really ugly, how it stops me believing anything good about myself……….I just hate it. I’m tired of fighting with my mind. I do not trust one single thought that I have. I’ve been doing a fair bit of reading, trying to learn as much as I can about it, and in some ways it helps, because I can see where I fit in. But at the same time, it really doesn’t help, for exactly the same reason.
Here’s something I came across today……….’As a therapist……they have difficulty remembering you are real. By the time they get in their car to go home after a session, they already need reassurance that you are real and that they really had a session with you. They will write long, emotional rants between sessions pouring out their hearts about whatever fears and anxieties they have…………..save them for the next session and then invite the client to open and read it to you so you can talk to them about their feelings as they read it. They will hate this………………..they are constantly pushing for some sign that they are not ‘just a client’ to you, but they are special. They need to know that they are different and you care more about them than you do your ‘real’ clients. This is seductive and stressful’
It’s true. It’s all true. The most terrifying part of the week for me is walking down the stairs after I’ve seen Therapist and knowing I’ve an entire week to get through before I see her again. When things get bad, I mail her between sessions. She doesn’t respond, we’ve talked about it, it’s me pushing boundaries, but when it happens I always feel like I genuinely and desperately need to tell her whatever it is that is on my mind, I’m consumed by it – she has to know, she has to understand how hard it is. And yes, I want to be special. I want to be different. I cannot bear to think that I’m just another client, someone she doesn’t think of any more than any of the others.
I cannot begin to describe how much I hate this. I so much want to be able to say that I won’t contact her ever again, that I can manage without her. But it’s just not true. Yet at the same time, how am I supposed to keep going when I know what a destructive presence I am for her? Or my family? I will, because that’s what I do, but right now, it’s bloody hard work and I’m exhausted.