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The Need to Reveal What Happened

Posted by susan47 on August 28, 2008, at 12:08:49

Many years ago, I was seeing a therapist whom I fell in love with. It was major Transference, I suppose. I say that because I wouldn't trust myself not to love him, I think that will be there as long as I have an idealized version of who he is, in my head. And I always will as long as his silent withdrawal remains, and it will.
It's supposed to. According to good therapy I suppose, good therapy after bad. Because I did get bad therapy, I didn't get any therapy,I got bad therapy, very bad therapy in the end, because I was cut off when my transference got Erotic. I didn't know that's what was happening, but it was.
And he had allowed me to talk to him to say things I couldn't say in person, on the telephone. He had said it was okay to call between sessions to talk to the answering machine. And I did it and I got Addicted to doing it at the same time I was becoming addicted to pot, marihuana, which I told him about but which was only discussed to the extent that he asked me wouldn't it be good if I could find a way where I could feel the effects of smoking pot, without actually smoking pot. And suddenly I started using the telephone.
Only I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know how big of a relief it would be to spill my guts to a telephone (my job with the police had been wiretaps, darling, for many many years I listened to others spill theirs and it was Wonderful, in its' way, and awful too, terrible and horrible other things)...
but I did it, it was wonderful, Wonderful he was the first person and the first male who ever seemed to listen or care what I said and I felt good and I felt sexy and alive, Alive I tell you.
I could not give that up until he forced me to, until he wrote me letter after letter saying do not call do not come into my office do not write me letters.
And now I am starting DBT and I there is no point, absolutely no point to my life because I am still smoking pot trying to understand the meaning of why I did what I did when I did it,
and nothing makes sense anymore,
and I am Not Loved,
not even cared for a little bit,
and I am dying inside, my lungs blackened by my spirit,
my spirit chained by a drug,
the drug itself the only free thing.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Help me be free.




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poster:susan47 thread:848765