It’s inching ever closer – next Monday and what I’ve decided will in fact be my final session with Therapist. The last time I wrote I was trying to decide whether or not I would go through with any closing sessions at all. We agreed two, but remembering how gut wrenching the last two were, and knowing just how hard the next one will be, I don’t think I can stretch it out any further than that, I don’t have it in me. I also don’t think there’s any point. In the normal scheme of events, a therapeutic relationship would come to a gradual close. Sessions would spread out to fortnightly, then monthly, before coming to a natural end that both sides had agreed on and were happy with. This is not a normal ending, and there’s no point in pretending otherwise, so to treat it as such just wouldn’t work.
This ending is going to leave me absolutely heartbroken. It’s been more and more on my mind the last few days which I guess is inevitable as it’s getting closer. I’ve found myself thinking about what it will be like to walk into the session. I’m picturing seeing the waiting room for the last time, smelling the familiar smell of the space. And then the office. And then her…….
I’ve been told more than once I’ll have to grieve for this relationship, that there will always be grief when a therapeutic relationship of such long standing comes to an end. I’m terrified of letting myself feel that grief in case it takes me over. I realise that this must sound utterly ridiculous to anyone who hasn’t found themselves in this position (fortunately most people I would imagine) – how can I possibly be so worked up about someone I don’t even know? But it’s not just her. It’s everything she’s helped me through. Sever post natal depression, twice. Multiple other episodes. Chronic anxiety. Loneliness. Trial and error with medication. Hospital admission. Self harm. Coming to grips with bpd……….I have relied on her every inch of the way for over 6 years. There hasn’t been a single decision made that didn’t involve her in some way. And now? Now I have to let all of that go. All of that support, all of that understanding – gone. Just like that. I know I’ll be able to manage. I’ve kept going this long so there’s no reason to stop now. But what I’m really, really scared of, is just how hard it’s going to be, and the potential impact that coping with it could have on me, is already having on me. I am in pieces as I write this. If even the very prospect of that last session has me in such a heap, how on earth am I going to get through it? How am I going to get up out of that chair for the last time, walk out the door, and just get on with my life?
Here’s how. Let myself feel it. I have to. Ignoring it won’t make it go away, it will make it fester. It will make me angry, and most likely depressed. It will turn inwards, and if I let it, will eat away at me. It will overshadow everything that is good in my life. I know people won’t understand, I don’t expect them to. But I’ve got to let myself feel. Since writing the above, I’ve cried my eyes out and come out the other side again. I’m calmer, for now. I suspect the storm is far from over, and will probably get significantly worse. But then it will get better, because it has to. Because I won’t give up. Because although it will feel like the end of the world, my life is far from over. I will leave her office, and come home to my reality. My family. I will most likely cry like a baby, repeatedly. But feeling, no matter how hard, no matter how scary, is infinitely better than nothing, and having let all that feeling out while I was writing, I feel so much better. Wrung out, but better. I don’t want to do this without her. But I can. I just need to keep reminding myself of that.
If you happen to find me crying in the middle of the street, you know why. A hug would be wonderful.