Ghosted!

In honor of Halloween season, it seems only right I tell you about the scariest thing I have encountered in a while.

Genuinely a real-life horror story.

Imagine talking to someone about the things you would like to forget. Or admitting you have, gasp, feelings! I mean the thoughts you don’t confess to anyone else, not even your Bestie. Over and over again. While that might not sound horrific to you, I can assure you there are few things more dreadful to me than being vulnerable or dependent.

But there I was, week after week, spilling thoughts, feelings and, often, an ocean of tears to my therapist. And this wasn’t just talk therapy, we EMDR-d, so if you know, you know.

Then, POOF, like the worst magic trick, she was gone.

Accepting a professional,

whom you were paying,

that was well aware of your triggers,

one notably being abandonment,

could just decide to not respond to emails, actually wasn’t difficult. As a chronic overthinker, obviously this possibility crossed my mind. Combined with trust not being something I have in abundance, or honestly, at all, ESPECIALLY when it comes to people showing up for me, nothing about this was surprising. My wall of hyper-independence and wariness was built brick by brick through a lifetime of disappointment and I’m insulated with doubt. Despite this, because it was in an official, and let me mention again… PAID capacity — because she was not covered by my insurance — I trusted the process.

I trusted.

I’ll never forgive myself for that. Admitting it leaves the taste of black licorice in my mouth. That kind of behavior might work for some people. but I should’ve known better. I did know better. The things she knows about me haunts me. She knows who I am when I’m not being who I have to be. I hate that. I only find solace in the fact that there was much left unsaid. Yes, we were peeling back the layers but, maybe thankfully, had only really scratched the surface in the two years I was in therapy.

The need to achieve makes me wonder what she thought me. Did I present too stable? Capable? Did I mask too hard? Did I smile when I should’ve frowned? Laughed when I should’ve screamed? Did she think that I was good to manage on my own? I never said that. I know, I never said that. But maybe I presented that way. Maybe I sold my progression too hard? Or it is my pride trying to find a reason that makes me feel stronger? Better? Healed?

So, I have been out here rawdogging life ever since. We spent enough time establishing how I can manage my depression so I’m, thankfully, more grounded than I was when therapy began. I was down bad! But I was just learning how to acknowledge and express feelings to her, we never got to me having that ability with anyone else.

Which is why I am here now, returning to the only form of expression that has never let me down. Am I still intellectualizing my feelings?

Probably.

Definitely.

While I was in therapy I didn’t write, I spoke. Words and I have an interesting relationship. It is my favorite thing to do, but only when I the words can’t escape. Primarily when I am avoiding feeling, it is my voice when silence envelopes me. I prefer putting an array of characters through the worst situations through fiction. There are few things more satisfying than saving someone else when you feel like you can’t save yourself, even if it is only make-believe. Controlling an audience, making them laugh, agree, or reflect… when everything inside you seems out of your hands, it’s restorative. I feel powerful.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, the universe creating a discomfort that will force me to return to what I know best. But it still not fair. This wasn’t fair. I wanted a chance to learn how to accept help. I wanted support, even though I fought it. I needed that space to show up and see where I am broken. And I know me. I am not going to do that again. Not anytime soon. It’ll be a decade before my mistrust defrosts. Did I mention this sucks?

This is the first time I have really held space for acknowledging that. I’ve been terrified that admitting it might make me feel unprepared to cope without her.

But I’m not scared anymore.