When discussing Piles of Paperwork about a week ago, I mentioned that I was planning to end therapy after my treatment plan expires in three months. I commented to close friends on Facebook that I was facing the challenge of lying to Sadie for three months so that she won’t stop me from leaving. Their outrage was amazing, and multiple people insisted that I really needed help and should find a new therapist, which I am unwilling to do because I’m not going to start over telling some stranger all about me. I did reluctantly admit that there are a couple of people who aren’t entirely strangers, but did not like the idea of seeing any of them.
Wednesday afternoon I headed into my appointment with Sadie, and told her that my friends were upset with me because I had told them I planned to stop seeing her in three months. I said that therapy didn’t seem that helpful anymore. She told me that I was being dishonest with her about my reasons, until I said that it seems like she wants me to go away and if she doesn’t think I need help then I can’t imagine her actually being helpful when I do. She said, “So you got your feelings hurt?” I was a little choked up saying all this, but managed to suppress it.
I told her I’d planned to lie to her for three months, not wanting her to know that I still have suicidal thoughts all the time. She commented on how I’d been doing better and wanted to know how long the thoughts had been a problem again. It had been at least a couple of weeks at that point. She probed about why I was feeling so hopeless again, and I told her that I’m a worthless monster. I tried to explain, but I’m pretty sure I was incoherent for the next 10 minutes, sobbing uncontrollably and babbling in disjointed, incomplete sentences.
This was the first time I’d ever shed more than a single tear in front of her, and to me the session felt like a trainwreck. To her it seemed productive. She asked me what was so bad about crying in front of her – she hadn’t laughed or made fun of me and the world hadn’t ended. Although I can objectively see that those things didn’t happen, what did happen was that I felt extreme embarrassment at how weak I was for losing control.
I fear that, now that I cried once, every session is going to be full of my blubbering. I fear that I’ll also cry in front of Brent when I see him in a few days. I don’t know what to say to him. I suspect he’s going to be upset with me when he hears how intense the suicidal thoughts were and that I didn’t call for help.
One friend suggested that it might be comforting to take my cat to therapy again next time. I doubt she’d be much comfort to me, considering that last time she spent the whole session curled up in Sadie’s lap.