I’m not even faking that I’m ok every day at this point. I feel really bad some days. I’m not asking for help because there is nobody to help me.
I sometimes don’t care how I feel better if I can just feel better. Maybe I need to hate him and set out to destroy him. I don’t know.
For now The Therapist has won. The world is his. He can do whatever he wants. He has everything.
This morning I randomly recalled something he said to me way back in my first or second session. He said that he’d read that the number one thing that therapists get into trouble for is inappropriate relationships with clients. He said he didn’t understand them doing that.
I remember when he said that, I agreed with him, but an alarm went off in my head. It went off along with the warning that uh-oh The Therapist doesn’t understand or appear to have compassion about that issue, or he seems cocky about it, which feels like the perfect invitation for the universe to teach him a lesson in compassion and empathy and humility. The lessons we get in subjects that we’re cocky about are typically not fun lessons to learn. And if you don’t let the lesson teach you the first time then usually the universe will persist in increasingly annoying or outright painful ways until you understand it or until you die.
I also remember thinking that that particular issue was one that therapists, including my new therapist, should have a good understanding of.
By now those of you who think The Therapist is damn near perfect are possibly irritated with me for saying he was cocky. He is absolutely a smug judgmental guy sometimes about some things, and that was one of those things.
Unfortunately, I was wearing my own blinders, because it was during that same session that I thought, oh this guy is far too attractive for me to have to be wary of getting close to and besides, only weak minded clients would ever fall for their therapist, particularly one like him. To top off my own smug attitude, I then proceeded to wonder what kind of woman it would take to get a man like The Therapist to lose sight of the plot or to go off the rails. I was in no way malicious or plotting, I was simply as judgmental and as smug as The Therapist was because I considered the entire issue of getting too emotionally involved with one’s therapist to be a non issue for a woman like me. The universe was probably laughing at the two of us in that session, secure in our individual self-righteousness, judging those weak losers who we would never be. Because characters interest me, I fancifully toyed with what kind of woman could ever distract this bright energetic therapist who was genuine, intelligent, and eager to help people. I decided it would have to be an exquisitely beautiful woman with a high intellect, a high quality education, a good sense of humor, loads of compassion, and she probably wouldn’t be poor.
I now realize how little we can see what is right in front of us sometimes. How impenetrable we think we are as we blissfully head for potholes or the edges of cliffs.
I’m not flattering myself. I’m not the woman I designed for my Therapist’s fictional cinematic downfall, in fact, it has taken many therapists telling me that what they’re sure happened was that The Therapist and I got too close, for me to begin to consider it as a realistic possibility. I have even gone so far as to politely and strongly disagree with them which frankly only resulted in me sounding like a smitten teenager who was defending her college age boyfriend. I hated feeling like that and so I began to listen and consider what I think seems to be the least plausible explanation on the planet for why my therapy spontaneously combusted, but I must now confess is the most likely.
The Beautiful Therapist and I got too close.
Close doesn’t have to mean sexual, although it can of course. Part of my weakness was that I mistakenly thought that sexual was the only closeness I needed to avoid. Readers, I have never been more wrong. I was doomed from the start because I didn’t think that wanting to be friends or starting to become more like friends with The Therapist was risky or dangerous or even a realistic problem we’d ever have. In short, I was clueless and unafraid of the danger that was clearly present. I should add that close could also mean any emotional connection, even as enemies if we want to be brutally honest about emotional entanglement.
Part of my humiliation comes from never ever being one of those girls who fell for the hot intellectual mysterious guy who everybody swooned over. The fact that he was my therapist sometimes feels like a double fail on my part when I’m being hard on myself.
My intentions were good. So were his. I don’t care what any of you think of me. I share this because it’s been hard for me to accept even after multiple therapists have patiently tried to explain it to me.
I stand by that I think all my therapist really did wrong to me personally was shutting down and shutting me out and throwing me away. If he liked me or disliked me too much, I can live with that, I can respect him for it. I really just wanted him to care enough to communicate with me.
I can’t tell you how he thinks of me now. Naturally I assume it’s negative. I choose to think that because it makes people less likely to think I consider myself some kind of femme fatale or something like that (I don’t) and because thinking of him hating me hurts more which keeps me strong.
What if I said, my therapist loves me, not in a sexual way because we were never out for that, but he cares about me and is intrigued by me. He’s also secretly flattered that I think he’s gorgeous. I would run my fingers through his hair and kiss him and tell him you’re so strong and smart and beautiful and baby I tried to touch the sun and not get burned, do you hate me? If all he said was I don’t hate you and you can touch my hair, then honestly I’d be very happy because that would be amazing, like the tenderness of meaningful sex without the sex part. That’s how I think of him and probably always will. And I can get away with saying that’s how I feel about him, because I’m me, but what if he felt similarly about me, what if he thought just for one second, I wish I could hold the client for a minute and tell her that she’s amazing and one of my favorite clients ever and I miss her. Would he get away with that? No. Some of you reading would be very upset and disappointed in him. I think that’s a shame. It’s a shame that people can behave reasonably well but they need to meet everybody’s approval or they’ll be destroyed.
But I’m the client. I’m allowed to be crazy. If The Therapist ever wants to hold me and tell me I’m wonderful, he can. Because I say he can. And none of you fucking control me. But he would never want to hug you, my haters say. You might very well be right, dear haters, it certainly makes the most sense on paper, but now I’ve introduced you to the fact that if he ever does want to, I’m going to let him. And if he lets me touch his hair and tell him he’s more beautiful in person, I will. And if it happened I wouldn’t tell you, not even on this blog, because I don’t tell you everything. You haters can chew on that.
I sometimes wish his supervisor had saved me. She wasn’t directly spying on us, so I don’t hold it against her that she didn’t know until far too late. I’m hurt that she reacted so abruptly and made me the last one to know, because I would’ve handled it way better than she’d ever have guessed, but yes sometimes I think, if she had figured it out early I wouldn’t be hurting so badly right now.
I have decided to believe the version of the story that I’ve been so reluctant to believe because of embarrassment and doubt. The Therapist and I had a like affair. You can call it an emotional affair, but I think that has a cheating vibe and I didn’t feel anything of the sort from either of us. But it was a like affair. He liked me, when I’m honest and don’t judge myself or disregard it because I’m not the Abercrombie model that he is, I have to say, yes. He liked me. He liked me too much as a therapist and I liked him too much as a client. I therefore suggested friends. It’s cliche, but I’m not entirely naive and I’m selfish enough to want some incredibly good influences in my life. Someone interesting and smart enough to argue with and still care about the next day and get smart ideas from. What did he and I have on paper? I challenged him and gave him plenty to think about and figure out and he gave me great ideas and solutions that only a smart and creative and genuine man like him can give. I adored him and respected him and he thought I was somehow endearing and frankly, not boring. He inspired me to tap into my strength and confidence and be a more powerful and happier version of myself at every turn. He did that more like a friend than the therapy manuals tell him he should, but I think that’s why therapy with him worked, it worked on my toughest problems, deepest pain, and biggest challenges, and I think it worked so well because on some level it was therapy with some genuine love and friendship mixed in, and that’s why in many ways it was very real.