Walks, talks, feels like a fracture. It’s a rupture that wasn’t her (or my) fault.
“…alliance ruptures are defined as increased tension or conflict between the respective wants or needs of the therapist and the patient, and can include disagreement on the tasks of therapy and a strain in the patient–therapist emotional bond.” [source: https://www.apa.org/pubs/videos/rupture-repair-psychotherapy%5D
It’s depressing. It’s laced with anger. It’s simmering, hurt-filled sadness.
A part of me is tragically unsure if trusting is actually the safest option. Anxiety is radiating through every cell in my body and eating is terrifically hard because I keep getting a very physical reaction to everything I put in my body that is quite unpleasant. Temptation to let the eating disorder take hold of this situation exists in the greatest sense but I haven’t tagged that part of me in, yet.
No “disagreement on the tasks of therapy” exist. It’s a safety and trust issue, which feels so odd to be fractured because I still completely trust my therapist. What I (the little parts) don’t trust is everything else. Everything else none of us can control. I never had a sense that I needed to care about anything else. It was beginning to feel like as long as I trusted her, I was safe, especially in her office, end of story. A rupture of the air we’re breathing; perhaps a more accurate explanation of how I’m feeling about the state of my therapy process.
The anxiety is my little parts wanting to return to safety but feeling so scared.
The thought of quitting or switching therapists or even taking a long break brings up a huge wave of sadness. If I think about it for too long tears will come. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point and I don’t actually want that but I am fighting depressing thoughts like if you could stop being dramatic, this wouldn’t be an issue. Maybe this is a sign that you need to be done. Maybe you don’t deserve safety. Somehow, this is your fault and you need to fix this, or walk away from it and stop letting it own you.
My body is in full blown fight or flight. I’ve done everything except take medication to try to self-care myself back to balance. Nothing is working and it’s because I have to release it with her but I can’t release it with her until I feel safe enough. But I don’t know when that is going to happen and I’m afraid I can’t stay in this fight or flight much longer. It’s so hard on my body and thoughts. This automatic survival isn’t conducive to starting school tomorrow. It’s hard to parent like this, and it’s hard to be present –in fact, I am not. I am in space. All the spaces except the space of my own body. I hate this. THE THING THAT WORKS TO SURVIVE OUT OF THIS IS MY EATING DISORDER.
I believe my therapeutic alliance is incredibly strong. As in, stronger than most because BOTH of us have worked insanely hard to build it this strong. The wolf pack is strong, the pups are ferociously looked after. The pack feeds the good wolf. We will get through this. But while we we’re trying to work through it, I don’t have very much faith in my own capability to take on this emotional turmoil and flight or fight response without spiraling.
Last night, for the first time in a couple months, my thoughts were filled with my own demise. It’s like depression filled my house and I couldn’t move around it without it choking me. I couldn’t hide under my weighted blanket from it, and I couldn’t wish it away or pray it away, it loomed over me giving me just enough oxygen to lay down in a sea of demoralizing suicide ideation.
I feel swallowed up by fear.