Honesty in Therapy

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

Most people with my diagnoses (PTSD/DID) and/or history (Complex Trauma), have a tendency to jump from therapist to therapist. They get to the "meat" of the issues or start touching on something sensitive - or their therapist will - and they hit the road. No f'n way man, I ain't goin' there.

It hurts to be honest. It's terrifying and - I say terrifying because I can't think of any stronger words - to say to a therapist, "Yep you're right and that hurts because it's true."

That happened to me during my last visit. She did something that stirred up the mud and muck inside. She reached deep, deep, deep inside where I won't look, can't look, and at the time, I didn't tell her. Couldn't tell her. I believe I told someone else, at least a little - I don't remember who - but I couldn't tell her. It was an unfamiliar, frightening maternal thing. I've never gotten to know my mother - never wanted to - and want nothing to do with her. I've also always maintained that I don't care about her, don't love her, and never needed her.

I canceled my session with her on Sunday night. Sunday night was suffering with suicide ideation - bad. I wanted a gun...Swore I would buy one. I went to bed, woke up emotionally and mentally hungover. As if there were this huge grey cloud over me, surrounding me. I was still shaken, still hurt.

I was told some things by my son (again), how I need to stop taking my meds and "get over it," among other things. I finally shut his phone off. He hasn't paid the bill and he's 25...shouldn't even be on my plan.

Anyway all kinds of things happened, and my last session was part of it. It stayed with me and I've held it, like trying to hold your breath as long as you can. It's stayed with me and I see her tonight because she called me and rescheduled for today at 5:30. She warned me before that she's a "nag" and won't let her trauma patients go that easy. There were other parts of it. One big one being an issue between Bill and I and I was feeling trapped and controlled. That set me off, big time and just brought out my fighter. Not pretty. And at the same time, figuring why the hell should I be alive? I was a mess.

Now I feel afraid to talk to her - afraid of what to say... I don't want to feel what I felt during our last session and I don't know how to broach the subject...or if I even should. Not yet, anyway. Not ready.