hsphaven

Even weeks after leaving that final session with my psychologist, I am still not sure what hit me. That session was so grotesque… the way she said she’d been speaking with colleagues about me and they all agreed that she should stop seeing me… the way she brought up all the times I’d been difficult during my private hospital stays to prove that I was indeed too “unstable” to work with. Apparently pulling a third person into the dynamic is a documented strategy used by “selfish individuals” to “comfort and protect their egos”, and “reinforce their sense of rightness or superiority”. I was left feeling ganged up on. All I had left to say to my psychologist as I left was “fuck you”. All I have left to say now is this quote by Booker T. Washington.

What I never realised before I entered therapy was that therapy can produce a dependence similar to drugs. Suddenly terminating therapy can send our brains into withdrawal. I’m sure my therapist knew that but she didn’t care what she was going to put me through. I am doing the best I possibly can given the situation. I am angry, which is helping me to push her away from me. I have made a complaint to her licensing board and want justice, but from what I hear in my “Clients Harmed by Therapy” group, boards do not consider forced termination as a breach of ethics, even though it is a breach of trust (especially when we’ve been seeing them for a long time) and very damaging to a lot of us.

I’ve reached the end of my twelve-year road with therapy. I will not be seeing another psychologist. I have these moments of impending doom where I feel like another awful thing is just around the corner. When/if it does happen it will be hard to not get sucked into therapy again, but I no longer trust these people. They actually scare me, and I’ll cut off my legs before I sit in front of another therapist with their manufactured empathy and the smug look on their face.

I’ve been watching some videos about The Dark Night of the Soul and they talk about this point we reach where we know our past way of life never fills the void, but we don’t know where to turn next, and this can create a sense of despair. We can’t go back, but the way ahead of us is dark and unknown. Therapy has stripped everything away from me: study, relationships, hobbies, who I thought I was, my faith, my health, my sanity, my entire 20s. Now, I just stand and stare at the rubble: a collection of labels which try to capture what the hell is wrong with me, chronic insomnia, packets of pills lying everywhere, clothes I have hoarded which I have no room for, alienation from just about everyone around me. Picking up the pieces may be the hardest thing I will ever do. While this is the point where many people turn to therapy, therapy is the very problem in my case. I have to do this alone, or perhaps with more mutual relationships. I ran into the waitress I thought had left the café I often go to again recently. Turns out she is still there. We hugged, and it was not like most hugs. Most hugs for me feel emotionally empty, but this hug is what hugs are meant to feel like. I’m trying to find the courage to ask her if she’d like to be friends.

I feel drawn to spend time alone in nature right now. Nature is my temple, and I identify with those earth-based spiritualities such as shamanism and paganism. I spent the last of the string of sunny days we’ve had here in the park sewing another beach picture. I’m going to frame it like my psychologist did and either sell it, keep it or give it to someone who deserves it. It was the first time I’d stitched anything for ages and it was a form of mindfulness. I felt so much better the rest of the day. I had one night this past week where I even slept. So while I still have a long way to go, I celebrate these small wins.