End Of Therapy

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

End of therapy.

Finishing therapy was much more difficult for me than starting it.

I'll start with how I got into therapy. The idea to go to a psychologist arose in my head spontaneously and unexpectedly. Obeying my impulses and trusting my intuition, I decided to work on myself at a higher level, i.e. with a specialized specialist. Search. I didn't have any acquaintances who went to my psychotherapy at that time, and I decided to turn to a search on the Internet. What are the criteria? He or she? How much is? Why all these questions if you don't know anything at all.

I just typed the word psychologist in the search bar on Facebook. That's how we met. I chose the first photo that I liked. Yes, the photo really shows who is who. What attracted me to a psychologist? Of course, as it turned out later, my own problems. The transfer function was implemented with lightning speed and the choice was made. Telephone. A meeting.

Disappointment came pretty quickly. Personal boundaries and the essence of psychotherapy did not leave me indifferent. I fought to the last, my faith in my ideals was so strong that I never parted with them, although they were pretty worn out. Yes, I received a lot in the course of therapy, there were many interesting discoveries, rethinking. I learned that I cannot read the minds of other people, although many really require it. It was interesting to experience my imperfection, my loneliness, my emptiness. Interesting and very painful. Over time, it began to dawn on me that a good psychologist does not give advice, and does not say what is good and what is bad. I realized that it can be different and that's okay. In general, the phrase “this is normal” became a real discovery for me. It turns out that it is more than universal. And that's okay!

As we moved forward, some of the techniques and things began to piss me off. There was a lot of aggression. I started to feel sick with anger. The sewers opened the cesspool and went away to smoke a little, and meanwhile, the mischievous child threw a pack of yeast there, then ran up to Eric Bern and looked so playfully into his understanding eyes and, pointing his finger at the pit, smiled. Then there were other feelings, but mostly anger dominated.

I soon realized that my psychologist was not one of my parents. And this realization was the first major shift in my entire therapy. The first brick of the mental prison wall flew out from the blow with a sledgehammer.

Perhaps this was the very thing that my therapist was able to give me, and for this I am very grateful to him.

Then there were many other discoveries and many insights, and they all brought down the wall. “The world does not meet my expectations,” a friend of mine told me, and I sat down on a bench, and at the same time, the bars on the prison window flew out with a piece of the wall. “No one owes anything to anyone,” he said, and dynamite exploded under the wall. There was so much dust that I went blind for a while. I closed my eyes and trusted the world around me. Meanwhile, it was winter outside, and I got a little frostbitten. I stood and trembled from the cold, hugged myself with terrible force, my eyes were closed, and Bujenthal and Freud sat next to me in the chairs and looked tensely at me.

The time came when I began to understand that what I want, they will not give me here. There is no dessert in the cafe and the tea is already cold. It was necessary to make a choice, to sit like that or get up and leave. The transfer didn't work anymore, I legalized it, and it became just a simulacrum. But what a simulacrum! Anything that didn't kill him made him stronger. Jean Baudrillard stopped walking past me, I am still shivering from the cold. He asked me: "Hide what is or simulate what is not?" Is it possible to do both ?! No.

So the die was cast. Not having received parental love (well, of course!) And having received everything else (adjustable wrench, utility knife and user manual), I sat in a chair with my legs apart. A bead of sweat started its way from my armpit and rolled down to my waist.

The realization that I had not received what I wanted and that I would never get this wish from anyone, pressed on my head. My mouth went dry.

Where is Love? Where is the acceptance? Where is the joy of knowing that your parents love you? All in the past. It's all gone. And that's okay.

Although I still think that this is not normal at all. And I understand that I am wrong. Understand and forgive, accept everything as it is, and move on. The dust settled long ago and it's summer already outside. I opened my eyes.

I am leaving therapy.

And here the yeast in the cesspool fermented in full, and everyone who stood at the edge of the pit was spattered with shit. It was splattered so splattered. We sat opposite each other and watched the slow trickles of sewage running down our faces. It seemed to me that it was so.

Fear. He began to dominate. Before I voiced leaving, one fear, after - another fear. It was really scary. The first time is remembered forever.

I went outside and just walked forward. I walked as I always walk. Straight. I look down. Asphalt is the insecure person's best friend. Asphalt is a whole 2D (and sometimes 3D) world. This world is always gray and dirty.

After a while, I discovered another 2D sky world. It is much more diverse because it is constantly changing. And then I realized that what is gray and dirty just needs to be bypassed, and what is light and what is changing, you just need to observe, you do not need to go to it, it is always there.

Just lift your head and open your eyes. You will definitely see him.