I’m almost there. I’ve almost survived my lengthy and self inflicted break from Therapist. It’s times like this that I wish I’d stayed anonymous as a blogger, because writing about this is so incredibly hard, and makes me feel a deep and profound sense of guilt and shame. But, I need to write about it, so…………..
Writing about Therapist is nothing new. The intensity of emotion I feel around and about her is nothing new. But if I’m to be completely honest, I have to explain it properly, and with the intensity that I feel, not just the intensity that I feel safe sharing. It’s been 5 weeks, I think, if not 6, which is pretty much the longest break we’ve had in the last 3 years and it’s been beyond challenging. There were times when the need to see her was completely overwhelming, and that need seeped out and affected every aspect of my life, because it took over my thinking. It actually took the form of physical pain at times – night time, before going to sleep, has been the worst, I have literally been curling up around the gaping hole the I could feel in the middle of me, desperate to get to sleep so I could stop feeling. She has been a constant, constant presence on my mind. First thought on waking, last thought at night, and everything in between. There’s not a single thing that happens in my day that I don’t think about sharing with her. When I’m in town, I’m constantly scanning the crowds in case she’s there. I see her everywhere, but nowhere.
Compounding all of this are two things: the fact that this break was my own doing, and the fear that I may have pushed too hard this time and managed to create the one situation I so desperately wanted to avoid – pushing her away. It’s bad enough to feel all the above under normal circumstances, ie, a normal break between sessions (and yes, this intensity comes up even during the weekly gap that’s part and parcel of therapy) but to feel it for this long, with no contact, and no reassurance has been all but unbearable.
And then there are the questions, so, so many questions. What does she think of me, and I mean really, think of me? Not with her Therapist hat, but with her normal human being hat. Was she relieved not to see me the last few weeks? Has she thought of me? Did she lie to me about having availability? What has she been doing? Has she thought of me? Who has she been with? What does she like? Has she thought of me? Who is she? Has she thought of me? Has she thought of me? Has she thought of me?
It feels like obsession. Maybe it is obsession. It scares the shit out of me, because for the most part I’m powerless to turn it off. And in a really perverse way, I don’t want to turn it off, because that means stepping away from her and that’s something I can’t bear to think of. It’s the most exquisite, messed up kind of pain.
The worst part of all of this is the not knowing. Not knowing the answers to any of those questions, and worse, not knowing whether or not she’s actually still willing to work with me. What a glorious irony it will be if my profound need for her, and the decisions that need has led me to take, has finally been the thing that has pushed her away. How perfectly borderline.