I’ve continued to feel distraught and perturbed from my last session. Although I have maintained what has been a very active social life in the last 3 days, I have felt internally as if I have just broken up with someone, ended a relationship. That horrible feeling like part of my world has crumbled, and nothing except seeing him again will make it go away. The amount of angst I am feeling around my therapist is humbling to me, and I keep wanting to fix it. I guess I’m not sure how to move it. If I should be speaking up to him that I am / have been affected this way or just endure until our next session, which is not for another week and a half.
Aside from the whole wanting to be special / heart-broken thing, another part of my perturbment is that I want him to confirm that he sees the split in me; he sees why I am there in his office, that he doesn’t think I’m being a drama queen. Yes, there is that term again – drama queen. What is real. Yada yada … yada yada … I keep comparing myself to the patients he sees in the psych ward who are unable to have a normal conversation and who, if left to their own devices would off themselves immediately.
If I’m not that, I don’t deserve therapy. I should get my act together and get on with it. I keep feeling as if something in me that I am not particularly in control of is driven obsessively to prove to him that I am bad enough to need therapy.
On the other hand, another part of me knows without a doubt that I do, and I am benefiting from seeing him.
And this very debate going on in my mind IS why I am there. It permeates every part of my life. The feeling of having secret personalities, secret lives; the obsessive flip-flop anxiety and catastrophic self-doubt I feel when I put myself out there, with resumes, career paths, training, etc.
And, the fact that I feel heart-broken at the ending of a session because he did not say how wonderful and special I am, take me into his arms and tell me everything’s going to be alright. The familiar heart-break / abandonment / rejection pain that throbs through my chest, down my arms and out my fingertips, leaving my body feeling “dead”, completely empty, without will, defeated. Dead.
My attachment with him is becoming more painful, and the intensity of it scares me a little. Maybe because he’s a therapist, he’s not going to abandon ship without telling me, and I will actually be able to work through this.