I’m going to see Therapist after work this evening, and I’m really nervous. You all know the number of times I’ve thought that not continuing with her was a good plan, and it usually coincided with a low, meaning it was in fact a very bad plan. Up till now, it’s been one of my warning signs. But now? Now I’ve given it a whole lot of thought and I wonder if in fact continuing with her is preventing me from doing everything I can to keep myself well. No, preventing is the wrong word. Maybe it’s more that continuing with her is allowing me the luxury of not needing to do all that I can to stay well. Does that make sense? I’ll try and explain.
Last week was tough, really tough. Do you remember these images? I put them up on facebook a few weeks back.
Last week I was headed for the 5th, if not the 6th in the sequence. Not pretty. I’ve talked about this a lot with Hubby, especially in the context of not continuing with Therapist. There wasn’t a trigger, or not one that was noticeable anyway, and Hubby as usual saw it coming before I did. He reckons that once it gets to the point that I’ll actually talk to him about it, it’s already been going on for a while – he will already have noticed changes in my behaviour and the way I speak.
So why do I think continuing with Therapist is a problem? Because when I get low, I see her as the only one, the absolute only one, who can help. I feel overwhelmed by a need to contact her, to the point where I can think of little else, and if I do give in to that need and she doesn’t respond, the sense of rejection that brings with it is like a punch to the stomach. I can’t keep doing this, I just can’t. Whenever something happens during the week, good or bad, the first thing I think of is telling her about it. I want her to be proud of me if I do something well, or validate if I’m feeling bad. She has been so kind to me, so accepting of everything about me, but now I think that acceptance is getting in the way. It’s like being a small child, and desperately wanted a mother’s attention – a kind word, a pat on the head, a hug – anything. I know it’s completely irrational, but I can’t express strongly enough just how all consuming this need is. It scares me. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve been told many, many times that this is all part of the process – it’s transference, it’s a sign of a good therapeutic relationship, it’s progress – but the worst part of it is that it leaves me tongue tied in her presence. So all of these things that I’ve just written, all of which I need to say to her, I can’t. Why? Because the rational, adult part of me knows that this doesn’t make sense, and is embarrassed and ashamed to feel like this. It’s that part of me that’s in the chair. The child, the one who’s so desperate for her attention, is too scared to come out when the opportunity finally presents itself. So, I feel like we’re at an impasse. I don’t know what to do. I’ll talk to her about it today because I have to, and when the time comes, if I’m not able to say it out loud, I can show her this. I’ll let you know what happens.