One hundred and fourteen sessions.
One hundred and fourteen sessions I had with my t. Written down it doesn’t seem like much but it feels like a lifetime in some ways. And in some moments it feels like it never was.
Normally the last few weeks during our session we would talk about what we were going to do in the next session. For some reason last week we didn’t talk about how the last session would look like. When I realized this on the way home I started to fret about it. So the next day I did the highly unusual act of phoning my t to ask her what we would be doing. She said she didn’t have anything specially planned. So I asked her to do something for me. I asked her if she would write me a personal letter. Something I have never asked another human being to do for me.
And so the last session started.
I fiddled a bit with the project we had done together, mostly to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted. We talked about my family for a bit at the beginning. My mom is in the hospital and there is a lot of family drama going on. I moved off the subject quickly because I didn’t want the last session to be about them. This was going to be about her and I.
We had to tie up some loose ends. One of the things was my box with some of my very angry thoughts in it was still in her office. My t asked me what I wanted to do with it. I told her I would keep the box but she could do whatever with the paper. She asked me if I wanted them put into my file and I said sure. But before she could put them in the file she needed to read them first. I let her. “You were really angry” she said. So we talked about it for a bit.
I told her that I was sad. How I didn’t think it should be ending, at least not at this time. She reminded me that I have other supports. She also reminded me that I can come back, that this ending doesn’t mean it’s a done deal, that I can never come back. We talked about my black and whiteness in regards of me going back to therapy. She said I would just have to remember if I went back to therapy with her, it wouldn’t be working straight through, that there will be breaks. We might work for a three-month stretch or an eight month stretch (or anything in-between) depending on what we are working on. I told her I needed time and space before I decided on anything at this point. I told her if I didn’t come back to see her it would be because I liked her too much and wouldn’t be able to do the start/stop thing. I told her it would be different if I didn’t care about her so much. (it bugs me that the caring happened but I guess it shows I’m human after all)
I told her how I’ve fallen into the mindset of “you don’t care” “nobody cares”. We discussed how that comes from my woundedness. She said she cares about me, cares a lot. I told her I knew that but I can’t help the feelings that come up.
I was glad I was able to talk with her about some of these things even though I knew it wouldn’t change anything.
We talked about many things and near the end of the session she gave me the letter she wrote for me. It was really, really nice. I have only read it once and will probably wait a while before I read it again.
I wrote her a letter. I wrote about my journey in therapy with her. I wrote how much I appreciated what she had done for me. (she has helped me even if I don’t agree with the ending and how it ended and I think it all sucks and I don’t think it’s right). She started crying a bit when she read the letter and said she really appreciated what I wrote and it really touched her heart. She gave me a hug.
She told me she would be thinking of me and I was still on this journey. She said she would be here for me if I needed her.
At the end I said I wasn’t going to say goodby because I didn’t really know how to.
As I left there was still so much to say but left unsaid because in the end there were no words at all.