The loneliest feeling in the world is to feel unseen. Truly unseen. To have the knowledge that nobody really sees YOU. That nobody actually truly knows YOU. To have secrets…to wear masks…to shove the difficult feelings deep down because nobody needs to hear about your pathetic shit. And one of the saddest realities of being unseen is knowing that there is just one person on the face of the earth who really knows you…who’s heard all your shit, sat with you through your horrifically difficult feelings and knows your deepest fears and insecurities. And that person is your therapist…or former therapist in my case. It’s not my husband, or my best friend, or my parents or sisters or religious leader. It’s my fucking former therapist.
And in the past 2 1/2 weeks since we terminated therapy, I have never felt so alone and unseen than I do now. And it feels pathetic. It feels like I’m bat shit crazy. It feels like I’m nuts for feeling this way about my fucking therapist. What is that?!?
I’ve been seeing a new therapist. We’re just a couple of sessions into our journey. She’s sharp. She’s the push I’ve been looking for and I have no doubt that she’s more than capable in her therapeutic skills. However I’ve forgotten (ya know, since it’s been 10 years since I’ve been through an intake with a therapist) just how fucking painful it can be. She’s asking me question after question about my past and why I think I feel the way I feel and why I do the things I do and what’s challenging and what do I want to work on and how talking about everything makes me feel. And in explaining things about myself, I’m finding the unavoidable need to explain things that I haven’t talked about in a very long time. Painful things. Things I avoid for a reason. Stinky, rotting, buried skeletons in my closet.
And while it’s painful enough to share these things, it’s even more painful when I feel that I have to put on a mask and shove the tears down and reassure her (and myself) that “it’s fine”…that “it’s just the way it is”…that “it was hard, but it’s not a big deal”. All the things that J already knew AREN’T fine…that it’s something I want to change more than anything but am held back by fear…that it’s hard, but it IS a big deal. The things that he knew were the deepest hurts I’ve experienced. That they are the things that make me tick and explain why I do what I do. But she doesn’t know that. The new therapist doesn’t know it. Nobody knows it. Nobody except J.
So I sit here with all this drudged up shit from the past…horrible, painful, shameful shit that defines my very existence…and I’m sitting in it all alone. Because M is my therapist now…J is not my therapist. And I want nothing more than to quit therapy. To run back to what’s comfortable. And really just want all the hurt and ache to go away.
I feel like I sound like a crazy person. Like the loony gal who is obsessed with her ex-therapist. I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard. That I really shouldn’t feel these feelings…and so I walk around pretending it’s fine, when inside nothing is fine. And I’m not sure it will be anytime soon.