Sunday, February 6, 2011

Friday's Therapy

“Ha!”  I said as I quickly sat in my therapist’s chair.  “I’ve reversed our roles, how does that make you feel?”  My therapist sat on the couch, seemingly amused.  I had planned on staying in the chair but the change felt weird.  I said, “Just kidding” and switched seats with her again.  My therapist laughed as she switched seats with me.  I sat on the couch and then the mood changed.  It wasn’t playful anymore.  I had to think about something to talk about.

I told my therapist about my plan.  Well, actually someone else told my therapist anonymously which really pisses me off, but I admitted to it and told her about my essential item which I had been keeping in my fridge.  She listened to me, much calmer now and then told me she cares about me and doesn't want me to be dead.  Her eyes were full of tears when she told me.  Is that weird?  I think it is.  She asked me if I would bring my essential item to her and I told her I didn't want to but I brought it to her on Thursday.  To be honest, I really just brought it to her to make her feel better.  I can always get more.  We sat in silence for a little while before I asked,

Me: “What did you do with my essential item?”
Her: “I threw it away”
Me:  “How come you didn’t throw it away here?
Her:  “Because I thought you might see it and want it. How does it feel to have given it to me?”
Me:  “It feels better to have it than not have it.  I wish I still had it.”

We sat quietly for a few moments before I asked, “Do you think I’m crazy?”  My therapist immediately responded with, “That’s a curious question.  It puts me in a bit of a bind.  If I say no, you won’t believe me, and if I say yes, you will believe me.  I’m wondering why you are asking.”  I said, “Because I’ve been sitting here for more than 8 months and I still don’t know what you think about me.  You never answer my questions with a direct answer.”  My therapist mumbled some long drawn out answer that basically said that she knows she doesn’t answer my questions.  “Why did you ask if I think you are crazy?”  I thought about the question for a moment before I answered.  My anxiety was making it hard to think clearly but I managed to say, “Because I’m not normal.  I’ll always be messed up.  I’m not fixable.”

Her:  “Why do you feel this way?” 
Me:  “Because a normal person doesn’t take a shower and look at blue veins in their skin and think,
         this is the best vein to use.  This vein is big enough”
Her:  “I can understand how it might give you some sort of comfort to have a way out.  I get that.”
Me:  “I just feel like there is something really wrong with me.  If I were a better person maybe I’d still
         have another sister.”

Then we talked about my sister and the man in the middle east and what kind of person I am to be able to do things like that.

Her:  “Why do you take on all this responsibility?  Why is your mother sick, but you’re a horrible 
          person?  You were a little kid and all these things happened to you because of cruel adults in
          your life.”
Me:  “All I had to do was say stop, but I just sat there and listened to a man scream for his life.  I
         listened to a man scream and did nothing and then I ran past my brothers and sisters knowing
        she was going to hurt them but I didn’t care.  I just ran.  I only cared about myself.  I could have
        saved my sister but I didn’t.  I just feel like there has to be something wrong with me if I started
         out so messed up at such an early age.”  I began to cry.
 Her:  “You take on all this responsibility and you blame yourself because that is what the adults 
           always did to you.  You are doing what they always did to you.  You blame yourself because
           it is what you know.”
Me:  “And then no one wanted me.”
Her:  “That’s another level of it too.”
Me:  “And now I’m all puffy.”
Her:  “You are a little puffy.”

We laughed and then I asked, “Am I a difficult client?” 
“Sometimes.  What do you think about that answer?”  I smiled and said, “I kind of like it.”
She chuckled and asked me, “What do you like about it?”  I said, “I like making you work.”
We laughed and then I cried again.  “Am I hopeless.” She answered in an affectionate tone, “No, you're not hopeless.” I continued to cry.  “Can you help me?”  She said, "I think so."