My therapy session this week didn’t start off all that well. The uniform that my work had ordered for me had sleeves that halted before my wrists. I felt humiliated and disgusting; some of my scars were on show.
After my shift I went to get food as it was coming up to 3pm and I hadn’t eaten all day. I chose a very nice, fragrant Mediterranean vegetable pasty. I brought that back up only ten minutes before the session started.
I shouted at her (my psychologist) and I feel guilty about that. I feel guilty about throwing up in a public toilet, something that I haven’t done for years. I also feel guilty about allowing myself to be so self-absorbed and self-indulgent when it come to these therapy sessions. I am scared that after only four sessions, I am too attached to her.
She is of a similar age to my mum who is no longer present in my life. I want her to give me a hug. I want her to tell me that I am not just another whiney brat who should stop clinging on to their teenage angst. I want her to be able to just step inside my head so that my emotions and reality aren’t lost in my translation of them into words.
I hate that I only see her every seven days. I also hate how she has made it impossible for me to write a journal for this week. She made me talk about things that I don’t talk about when I am sober and made me question my own perception of my past and present. How could I have been so stupid to allow someone to affect so me much? I have made myself vulnerable to her and I don’t like it.