Your sentiments feel familiar to me. I felt similarly last year. That the therapeutic relationship was painful, that nothing would ever change or improve, and that the entire endeavor was therefore probably pointless. I felt ashamed of my feelings for him too. The love, the neediness, it just all seemed so embarrassing.

Also, I would have felt hurt too if my therapist had told me that the relationship was a means to an end.

But something changed for me last December, after a rupture during which I almost quit therapy. I emailed him asking him to help me stop therapy. He asked me to stay. I felt differently after that. I knew he wasn't just waiting for an excuse to get rid of me.

We continued to have our disagreements, but he was always there for me when it mattered. Because of him, I was able to step outside of my comfort zone and to take my career to the next level, even though it required me to move away, to leave everyone and everything I knew and move somewhere else, somewhere unfamiliar and strange. But I was not afraid because he was there for me.

My love for him deepened. It felt real and vast and solid.

In June, when he told me his health had taken a turn for the worse and he would probably have to close his practice at some point, I told him I loved him. He held my feelings. He showed me that there was nothing wrong with them. They were normal and natural (of course, because everyone who knew him loved him) and nothing to be ashamed of. I learned to tell him in person that I loved him. I loved him with all my heart, my entire being. I did not expect anything in return. It was liberating.

My therapist taught me how to love. And I am a different person because of it.

Yes, he died, and, yes, I am heartbroken. There are still moments when the pain feels unbearable. There are still times when I wish I could die with him. I miss him terribly and can't imagine a future without him.

But I haven't actually killed myself, and I'm not going to. I get up most days and go to work. I have not been incapacitated though sometimes I want to fall on the ground and never get up again.

I can tell you that, if this had happened a year ago, it would have destroyed me completely. I am not the same person I was a year ago. My relationship with my therapist changed me. I am stronger, more resilient. I understand love. I carry his love in my heart always. It is my guiding light, and it gives me strength.

I guess my point is, there is hope. It is not pointless. I couldn't tell you how I got from where I was a year ago to where I am now. But I'm telling you it's possible.

I'm far from done with my work. I have lots of broken bits and unhealed wounds still. The grief I feel is profound. But I am a different person. Therapy changed me. It worked. Sometimes I can't believe it either. But it's true.