I think it’s ending.
Not from a natural place of mutual agreement that goals have been met and both of us feel ready for termination.
No, not that at all.
Instead it’s because I am not capable of overcoming This. It keeps invading my process because I keep seeing him, as one would since he works (and lives) there, too, and he refuses to acknowledge any wrongdoing with me. Little-me cannot handle even seeing him from afar. Knowing, fearing—irrational or not, my “safe” space is his property, is enough to feel unsafe even if I don’t see him.
I jump at every sound. I walk in so often in fight or flight because I’m afraid he’s a wild card. I’m tired of convincing myself I’m way overreacting and need to calm down. I’m tired of trying to make myself believe I somehow don’t deserve a simple apology, considering how much it’s affected me, even if it’s nothing to him.
Even thinking about ending therapy is completely devastating to me. I value so much about our relationship, my progress, my process, … it stings in the way that grief does just trying to process if we can even continue, because I can’t figure it out in my head.
It seems like an insurmountable problem. It seems like my only option is to remove myself from the situation. I’ll only make things worse. For myself and everyone involved.
I feel quite depressed right now. It’s as if the black hole was just waiting there ready for grief to engulf me with fractured support so it could wrap me in it’s arms.
It’s crushing—the thought of losing the maternal hug I’ve done so much work in and with, and trading it for the empty place it feels like I’m falling face first into.