My therapy has been a roller coaster ride for the past three weeks.

I have read from others on this board how you hate your T on various occasions and I have thought that I loved mine and would never hate him. Then I thought that I hated him but not as much as you guys do. Well, okay, that phase is over.

This week I really hated him. Unfortunately I also hated myself.

I told him I hated him. I told him he had no right to make me feel the way I did. I cried. I pleaded. I felt rejected. I told him I would never call him again. I fell apart. PIece by little piece.

When I left his office I was so angry that I pushed the outer door open so hard, it hit the wall. This wall is behind the bookcase that is behind T's chair, and he was already in-session with another client.


About 11 hours after I swore I would never call again I called. When he answered the phone himself I hung up. [Yeah, as if he doesn't have caller ID]. A few minutes later I called again and got the machine (whew).

Then I left him a message, that he had to give me a referral to a new T because I was falling apart. I was sobbing. When he called back we talked for a few minutes so that I was able to function. Do you think that was the adult me? I had an extra session a few hours later and we talked through A LOT. He gave me permission to hate him. I asked him to help me understand. He said he had faith in my ability to understand through the process, rather than from him. I asked him why it hurt so much. He said he didn't know. He said that although my coping mechanism is not the best, that it was okay for now.

it took 3 sessions in one week for me to survive, to learn, to begin to have a shred of understanding of what is inside of me.

More importantly, it took a display and sharing of visceral feeling.

Peace.