We sit quietly working on the project together. We chat together about nothing really. I find this somewhat hard. I’m not about to talk about anything in-depth and how much can I chat to my therapist and not invade her boundaries. None of this feels real to me. None of this feels right. This should not be happening.
I ask the occasional question about therapy. I ask how will I know when I should restart therapy. With her or with someone else. I ask if any of the therapists she recommended could handle that or that. Stuff I might want to talk about that’s not so nice. We decided next week we will talk about how I will know when to go back to therapy. She will also help me make a list of questions I could ask potential therapists.
I act as if all is normal. I’m pretty sure I’m not showing any outward signs of distress. I seem to be acting as if this is an everyday occurrence that’s no bother at all.
Inside is another story. But nobody will see, least of all my therapist. Not now. Not at this time. I lived my childhood in a play. Acting as if all was well when it was far from the truth. I wish I wasn’t such a good actor but I don’t know how to be any other way. Even after a few years of therapy I don’t know how to break out of that behaviour. No yelling, no screaming here. All nice and neat.
Two more sessions left. But hey, who’s counting…