I mean, I guess. It’s been awhile, and everything has crashed down for the rebuild. It’s best to think of it that way instead of admitting my life was a flaming pile of dogshit for awhile there. My therapist is finally gone, after the great betrayal of course. I can’t remember if I went through that whole thing here. Probably not. I was suicidal he ignored me after a phone call and a text message. For a month. I finally contacted him again to find out if therapy was even a thing we were doing anymore. Trigger a month of him manipulating me, saying he’d call or give me an appointment, then nothing. Back and forth texting going nowhere, clearly for his own shits and giggles, so I played along. Then texting me around midnight to tell me that, oh man! He forgot for a whole week to schedule me, but somehow managed to remember in the middle of the night!
So we played the pay attention/ignore game for awhile and it just became utterly pointless. He seemed to be having fun, but it ran out for me, after the third time of him pretending he was going to schedule my appointment and me pandering to his injured ego because he’s an insecure fuckwad. He acted like he didn’t give a shit, whilst answering me on the weekends, at night, etc., so it quickly became obvious that he was more over involved than I had previously considered. It’s always the quiet ones. Well, not really. He would shut up until I told him my appointments were for me, not a time for him to sit there and talk about his life while I paid $150 an hour. I knew it was going to end somehow, but I think I originally thought I would be the one to put a dagger to it and end its misery.
The bullshit became more numerous after I cancelled an appointment in the morning because I was depressed as fuck and didn’t feel like talking to his overly-anxious, subject-changing ass that early in the morning. Oh, yeah, he was doing that too. Getting anxious about what I would want to talk about and instantly changing the subject. Then sometimes he would ignore me, which at this point I am starting to consider may have been entirely intentional. He’s a sensitive weenie, I’ve discovered. And let’s not forget the appointment that came before that, where I told him I wasn’t his responsibility if I killed myself and he shouldn’t feel any fault there. I was being more brutally honest than I had ever been and then he started ignoring my messages and calls. Then he reminded me the next time I saw him, that I “wasn’t [his] responsibility”. Gotta love that.
So I finally blocked him. I sent him one final text message, sugar sweet and piled with compliments since I know he’s got the self esteem of an unpopular teenage girl with bad acne and braces. Then I dropped him like a rock. I mean, we rise up and fall down, right? It was his turn.
It’s been a month and I’m still pissed about it. The petty part of me wants revenge, while the other part is angry that someone could be in that kind of profession and act like such a fucking tool. I’m also hurt because I thought he got it. I thought he had some kind of understanding. I thought we both did. I thought we were friends, if I’m being honest, as much as that word makes me cringe in this context.
I also realized he’s an avoider, which has only increased my loathing. I don’t hate anything more than I hate a coward. So I’m assuming he’s run off now, once he realized he got cut off from his source of feel-good messages and his person to manipulate. I sit back and wonder if he ever figured it out, or if he tries to kid himself and pretend like those compliments were real. It was so heavy handed at the end, I would dare to call it downright sloppy. How unlike me. But you can’t be perfect all the time. It got so tedious.
I have to keep reminding myself that this was the guy that told me the first girl he ever kissed had the same name as me. Called me beautiful. And he got erections during my appointments. Multiple times. He made excuses to touch me, and from what I’ve learned now, even with the specialized therapy I was getting, isn’t normal. But you know, cycles of abuse and shit. And apparently you can be groomed when you’re 30 years old. Who the fuck knew. I’m imagining that’s why it’s taking so long to get over it. There were so many red flags, but I ignored it because the therapy was working. It was actually working. But the next time a therapist asks me for photos of the guys I’ve fucked or details about what we did that aren’t in the context of therapy, that should cause me pause. Hmm.
Nothing is in vain. It’s taken me my whole life to learn that. But it’s true. Everything has a purpose, everything contains a lesson if you’re willing to suck up your pain and look closely. I didn’t know I was still stuck in that old pattern. I will probably always be to some extent, and I will have to consciously decide to be different. To change. It’s easier said than done, but I know that I’m more than capable.
Doing it is a slow crawl, agonizing. Inch by painful inch, nails scraping across the ground as you try to claw your way to somewhere, anywhere but where you are. Eventually you’re nothing but jagged talons and impotent rage.
You have to start somewhere.
I believe they call it resilience.