So much has happened in therapy, but I’m having difficulty stringing appropriate words together that best describe what’s unfolding. It’s probably best to split it up into three separate posts over the next few days, as I begin to unravel what all of this means. I’ve decided to start with the most bizarre and confusing of them all. It happened at my individual session with Paul on Wednesday.
I always arrive with some kind of an agenda, but Paul threw me off course by bringing up something that also involved us thinking about the end of my treatment programme in December. This was unexpected and the emotions even more confusing.
Since the start of this programme, everyone has been encouraged to ‘observing the feelings’. I cannot profess to understand exactly what happens when we do this, but I can testify that it does ultimately bring some degree of healing. In the past, I’ve called this ‘spontaneous healing’, you don’t quite know where it’s coming from, but you know when something powerful is happening.
I sat rather uncomfortably with Paul on Wednesday, observing the intensity of this humiliating emotion. I do have a huge problem with being unable to cry in private, so blubbering in therapy is off the agenda. Nevertheless, in between fighting back the tears, we were able to explore what was behind the emotion.
As the weeks have turned into months, and I continue to reveal bits and pieces of myself to Paul, his responses are what strengthen my trust and respect. However, I do not seem to experience the same attachments as other people do with their Therapist. Does this mean I will never progress as well?
I simply see our sessions as a professional agreement that has a beginning and an ending, with our time currently in the middle, therefore abandonment issues do not seem to feature in there. I am also reluctant to give much thought to our ending, when there are so many other issues to explore in the nine months remaining.
There is something about therapy ending and a sense of aloneness, which seems to invoke powerful emotion. The thought of going back to life before therapy is very frightening. Is it possible? The isolation can be inviting and I was never strong or motivated enough not to fall into the warmth of that safety net.
When I started this programme, I held it up on a pedestal because I wanted it to be the be-all and end-all of my recovery. At the very first session with Paul, I said, “I want this to be the last time I ever need to go through therapy.” I am not so sure that will be possible.
I am worried for the future. It feels impossible to achieve a new life while living with PTSD and Agoraphobia and even less possible to recovery by December. There is a real danger of life becoming aimless again, returning to the black hole, and this is usually a downward spiral. I wonder if this is what made me so emotional.
The truth of the matter is, I don’t know what’s around the corner. When I consider how far I’ve come in nine months, who’s to say how far I will go between now and December. Fear can make us imagine all sorts, but it can also fuel us forward in times of great need. That’s where I need to look, forward.