The Therapist that Bugged Me

Monday was my assessment.  The facilitator was the stereotypical Therapist – tall, slim, wearing a floral dress and matching jacket, with a string of white beads that were sparkling white against her tanned skin and bleached hair.  Her mannerisms appeared soft, gentle and void of personality.  There’s an almost robotic air about her, which always unsettles me.  My initial impression is that she is either bored or unwell.

We enter the room, with the customary two-chairs.  Her long slender hands with perfectly manicured nails signal to the space between them, silently entrusting me with the decision.  I like to look out the window, especially when I’m uncomfortable, but I immediately feel paranoid that she interprets my choice as something else.  The silence weighs heavy.  She sniffles and wipes her nose with a hanky.

This isn’t what I expect.  I imagined filling out some questionnaires of Personality Disorder tests, searching for an accurate diagnosis.  At the very least, I anticipated structure, but it is apparent this is a “person-centred” assessment, something my acute paranoia avoids at all costs.  Already I feel her eyes boring a hole in my skull, as I busy myself, putting things in my rucksack, sipping water and generally just trying to process and accept my predicament.  It almost feels like going on a scary ride at the fairground, regretting before it’s even started.

I cautiously glance over; her eyebrows rise as she nods for me to start and then blows her rather snotty nose.  Thankfully, the night before, my blog writing was a preparation.  I would hate to be lost for words and having the silence strangle me.  I run through the points I outline in my last entry of this blog.

Probably the two major issues I am aware of in my own BPD is “Splitting” and “Abandonment”.  Splitting is the term used to describe a rapid change of view.  One minute a person or situation can mean one thing, the next it transpires as something completely different, usually all positive or all negative.  For me, Splitting has meant that any consistency of jobs, friends, or relationships is next to impossible.

The second major awareness is for my fear of abandonment.  This is actually a very new revelation and one that took me by surprise.  Just recently, I concluded that this is probably why I prefer to remain celibate.  Why exacerbate deep emotional turmoil?

“No point feeding the beast”, I said, looking over for any reaction.

Suddenly her presence comes to life.  “Feeding the beats”?  She says with an inquisitive look.

This is what bugs me with Therapists, when they look for interpretation of something that isn’t there.  I use that term because I read it somewhere and it made sense.

“It merely means feeding ones problems, the beast has no significance”, I said, before she returns within her Therapist-shell and then blows her nose.

I have a few conclusions that I am still mulling over in my head and will conclude later.