The Patient

Yesterdays therapy session was really hard. The memories are hard to say out loud...and it hurt so bad. I cried all the way out of the office, all the way to my nutritionist session, all the way through the session, and then all the way home. I talked to my therapist this morning, and she said it sounds like I am grieving, and she is right. I have lost innocence to grieve over.

Therapy and the whole relationship with my therapist is hard for me right now. It is a confusing relationship, and everytime that I think of it being over, I end up in tears. In fact it seems that I end up in tears about most everything lately. Although I know that I still have more work to do, I still really struggle with the whole patient-therapist relationship. She is like a second mother to me. She was the one that I e-mailed when I tried to kill myself. She is the one that I tell all of my secrets to. I trust her with everything that I am. She says that she will never go away, but how can that be true? Someday she will go away, or I will go away, and maybe I am also grieving over that fact. She says that there will come a time when I will be ready to leave, and I just have to trust and believe in that. Anyway...I wrote this poem last night after our session.

The Patient

I walk
outside of your office
and then I fall apart
Pushing the down button
and shivering
in the air conditioned hallway
Sometimes I hate you
for what...
for making me feel, for listening
to all of my secrets
told in the light of day
for the moments
when you've touched my hand
made me ask
and then held me close
Wondering what I am to you
A thought at the end of your day
a check
but that is not the truth
as you flip through your list
of clients
These thoughts would hurt
your feelings
I think
but we are not allowed
no...I
am not allowed
to feel everything
that you make me feel
When do I know
that I can do this without
you.
I can no longer send you these words
I've lost the privilege...
Broken the trust...
because I knew that you would save me
if you could
And now here I am
still reaching out
again.

Angela Minard 2009©