Categories
psychoanalysis

break

I’m taking my first voluntary break from therapy in 7 years. I never missed a session unless I really couldn’t go (maybe once or twice altogether) or I had overdosed on drugs and I was too fucked up or too in the hospital to go (more than once or twice; in truth, in 7 years I overdosed so much that hospitalization became necessary only once).

Until a very short time ago (a month? a week?) I couldn’t have voluntarily skipped therapy. There were many times when I wished I could. Leaving another invariably feels to me like being left by another, and the sense of abandonment is intolerable. Now, though, I’m probably rehearsing departure. Clearly, I’m not fearing abandonment. I am so traumatized.

I feel as if my therapist were doing me untold violence. I feel cleaved on the sides of me — off goes an inch from my hips, cleaved clean; off goes a bit of my shoulder; my body’s contours are squarer, less curvy. I’m being cut as to fit into a box.

I feel denied. My feelings, my words. I have never been contradicted, interrupted, corrected so much. It’s part of her new policy. She won’t let me get away with flights of fancy. The result is not authenticity, for me at least. It is the very opposite of authenticity. I’m cutting my own self down to size, just to please her. Maybe I can make this work. Maybe I can make this work. Please don’t be mad. Please stop berating me.

My therapist has become the monster woman.