The Emotional Therapist
I had therapy today. It didn’t go as I thought it would. Actually, I have no idea how it would go as our sessions are as varied as the day is long. She got my text about my plan and then proceeded to have a breakdown. She felt like I was leaving her, for good and she couldn’t bear the pain so I got to hear it in her voice. She struggled all session to keep composure. It was the most difficult session I have ever had. She kept saying that she wanted me to see her so I basically deposited money I was saving for the month in my account so I could get a zipcar for tomorrow.
So much went on in those fifty minutes today. I shut down as I didn’t know what to say or how to act to my therapist crying. She wanted to know what was really going on. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. The thought of me not being there anymore was too much for her to think about. At one point, I tried to steer the conversation but it backfired on me. I told her to get the baseball on her desk, which is our code word when she is anxious and she said she wanted me to throw it at her. Not the response I was looking for.
I realized today that we don’t have a therapeutic relationship governed by the “rules” of therapy anymore. It’s more of a relationship of some sort and I really don’t know how to process this. I feel like I again blundered my own death by telling my therapist I was suicidal again. I just didn’t know it was going to be such an emotional session today. I feel really bad that I am affecting her this way and I just want to run away from her very badly now more than ever. Just cut the cord and see you but she is too possessive of me to let go. We have been together approximately 16 years. That is a long time and I had no idea how much I affect her. I had a glimpse of it more than 10 years ago. I was suicidal at the time and I was dead serious, like I am today, about ending my life. She cried then as well and we worked through that episode. That was before I found out about CAMS and psychache and the American Association of Suicidology.
Suicide talk still freaks the fuck out of my therapist. She did most of the talking today and I just let her ramble on, even though it probably should have been the reverse. I am just not emotional anymore. It takes a lot for me to cry and to feel hurt. Other than that I am just a pile of deadwood, not feeling much of a damn thing. I just know that ending my life is what needs to happen to stop the relentless agony I am in day after day after day after day and night after night. All I see in my future is pain and that is not a good feeling to have. It’s dread and it sucks.
I hope tomorrow isn’t a continuation of today. I won’t be able to handle it, not in person anyway. I tweeted to a therapist friend and he gave me at least 5 reasons why therapists are afraid of suicide, which coincided with my theories on the matter.