I’ve tried to start writing this so many times. Here I go again.
Therapy with T was really painful last week. Really gut wrenching, raw pain that made me want to be anywhere else but in front of her. Our first session back after my wedding and I was dreading it. I questioned whether I should even go.
It felt okay to start with. Being with her gives me a sense of a lightness I rarely have anywhere else. With my knees crossed on her sofa, just the two of us… I feel at home with her. She gives me a feeling of being home… this is the feeling that always knocks the other, more difficult feelings away when I arrive. I often spend the hour of my drive thinking of all the difficult things, but then I sit down with her and I lose grip on all the difficult stuff. So to begin with it was okay.
Then we started to talk about the wedding. My best day EVER. I wanted to share it with her and tell her everything but I started to and found I didn’t have the words. How do I describe to her the pure joy, the excitement, the funny little bits and the poignant moments? She wasn’t there. That feeling of loss, that she missed something so meaningful and important to me, came crashing down around me and I cried a few really hot sobs.
I didn’t really know how to talk about it with her. She was so loving and kind in the run up to the wedding, anything I wanted to say sounded selfish and mean and horrible and grateful. I don’t want to be ungrateful because I know she went wildly above and beyond and talking about how upset I was felt unfair.
It’s not really about the wedding. It felt more like the beginning of the end. Like I’d spent months preparing for the next lilypad in life with her, then I’d jumped but only then realised that she wasn’t going to jump with me. Transitions are always shitty but this felt especially so. I felt we had nothing to talk about because she didn’t really feel alongside me anymore. Even though she kept promising she was.
Anyway eventually she did come and sit with me and we looked through my wedding photos and had a cuddle and then I left… not really feeling much better.
I emailed her Sass’ horribly angry rant during the week which I’m just going to copy and paste below.
Massive rant. Not sorry.
I feel like I hate you. What is wrong with me. I can’t come next week feeling like this. I soooo nearly sent you the text I wrote asking to talk then I didn’t because…fuck you. You missed my wedding. It hurt in the run up and then on the day
it hurt but now it just feels rotting and ugly. I feel stupid for ever wanting you to come. I feel stupid for ever inviting you, for all the begging for you to come. It would be better if I’d never met you. It would be better if (previous counsellor) had referred me onto
anyone else who would never have coped with me and then they wouldn’t have kept me on after uni and then I would have split with (ex) and lost (my pets) and then killed myself. You wouldn’t be sad because you would never have met me, I was barely speaking to
my parents and had no friends so nobody would have missed me. I would have bled out of the world and nobody would even have noticed me gone.
You were stupid to keep me on after uni. You should have let me leave then you could have forgotten about me instead of getting stuck with me forever and ever because I’m a pathetic loser blocking a therapy space that you could use much better for someone
who might eventually be fixed. I’m never going to be fixed. I’m just going to sit on your sofa and spend my life whining at you, whilst some poor sod who you could actually cure will probably kill themselves because of me blocking your space.
And then eventually your bucket of patience will run empty because I spend my life poking holes in it and knocking it so it spills everywhere and you will leave me. Or you won’t leave but I will just KNOW I have to leave you because I’m a waste and then
I will feel all these shitty feelings I feel from you not going to the wedding but they will be a million times louder and uglier and then I will want to die because being a lonely unparented child again will make me not want to live except now I will have
a husband and friends and maybe kids and killing myself will make me selfish disgraceful fucking monster.
Please don’t tell me I will be doing all the lovely wonderful happy feeling things for myself by the time I leave you because I won’t. And even if I do, even if I turn into a fucking therapy miracle child who heals all past wrongs by learning to self soothe,
that is one of the saddest things I have ever heard. When I have nightmares and I’m screaming for people to stop hurting me and (husband) tries to wake me to comfort me I push him away. Instead of reaching for him he has to watch as I stroke one hand with the other
hand, then swap back and forth until I’m no longer hysterical. I’m always asleep. He can’t wake me. And that is one of the saddest things ever to me. Self soothing doesn’t sound like something to be achieved – it’s something fucked up trauma kids learn to
do because there is nobody to do it for them and it feels really unfair that I’m going to have to learn to do that so you can escape me. How unfair is that. I don’t want to hear that I’m going to be okay on my own. I don’t want to be. I don’t want you to leave
me and I don’t want to learn to be okay without you.
Now I’m a grown up aren’t I. I’m married with a job and a house and I want a baby. Now I’m a proper grown up and you’re going to leave me. Now I’m a grown up and grown ups don’t need mums so you won’t want me to need you and you will leave. I will hate
you forever if you leave.
Please don’t leave me. I’m going to need you forever 😦
She replied to say she was glad I’d been able to express myself and she was looking forward to seeing me soon.
We talked again the beginning of this week, on the phone, and nothing felt much better really. I feel simultaneously like I’ve outgrown therapy and also like I never want to leave therapy ever. Like I have a never-ending list of a million things to talk to her about and yet none of them feel right.
So now I’m finishing this blog post whilst I’m sat in my car outside her house…. because I’ve been so apathetic about therapy all week I’ve not had the energy to finish it before now! I hope this next hour is better.
I’ve been obsessed with the Ed Sheeran song Castle on the Hill this week. Something about the desire to get back to what you once had, the sense of driving at 90miles an hour in a hope to propel yourself backward in time to a time where you could just be together and watch sunsets and just BE. It’s hopelessness appeals to me this week. There’s no going back. No matter how much we want to.