The End of an Era
Leaving My Therapist of Ten Years
And now, reality smashes me in the face. I awake from a very deep sleep; my stuporous phase comes to a sudden end. Derek D. is the one who is effecting this sudden immersion into an icy stream. “Wake up,” he bellers, “Stop your dreaming. I can no longer live up to your ideals. I’m only a mortal person, sad and vulnerable like everyone else. I am no god, no hero; I’m not a fraction of what you’re trying to get me to be.”
Thus my make-believe world comes to a crashing halt. Oh, the wicked knots I had to tie, trying to keep my life together. I forsook myself and came to believe in a power greater than myself, in the father, the son, and Derek D.
I don’t know what to think about Derek, I only know my opinion of him is shattered. He seems empty and superficial now, always striving to prove himself, to be enough. His insecurities must be profound. It was always him or me; I could believe totally in one of us; in the other not at all.
It’s such a strange existence when you have no self. I have been putting myself into Derek for 10 years; before that it was my ex, then my brother, then my Dad. I have always hidden behind someone else’s identity.
So how do I come to terms with this new Derek? Who is he, and who am I in his absence? We both wanted to believe, it was so cozy and safe. But now I have gone through the terror of giving up that comforting lie. As I got lost in Derek I kept getting fuzzier and fuzzier, lying there on that stupid couch.
What could have possibly happened to him? He lost his ideals, went backwards; did the standard things people do to hide — made money, went to church, gained status and prestige. What happened to him? When did he lose the grit I so highly respected him for? Is he the reason for the constipation of my life, the slow heavy torpor of my insides?
What will it be like now with Derek not in my life? Surely it will be a relief to be able to keep my time and money and ideas; or to give them away appropriately.
So many things started in 1996. I started working steadily and standing up for myself. Analysis started; Derek wanted me to be his test case. He had it all planned out, I think; he was going to give me a treatment that began the slow paralysis of my soul.
Maybe it was before that when he developed the need to hide. My guess is that he made a number of bad decisions; took the low road too many times; the easier way out. One lie necessitated another, and before he knew it, he had boxed himself into a place he couldn’t find his way out of.
The line between therapist and client is a thin one, isn’t it? Thin and wary, they strive always to dominate. The knife-thrower, trying to “save” the suicidee — but actually using her to save himself. What is wrong with someone who needs to feel superior to crazy people, who needs to penetrate people; peer into their darkest recesses?
We were playing a dangerous game, Derek and I, walking a very tight rope; playing chicken. He wimped out, and I won. He couldn’t take it, because I’m stronger than he. Only when I went to him shattered into pieces could he carry off the pretense of “Mr. Big”.
As I got stronger, he felt weaker and more impotent, needed to diminish me so he could feel like enough. So many times I wondered, would he be enough? He couldn’t take the hard part; the part where I confront him; where he’s no longer The King. That was too much for him.
Derek D. was in love with both parts of me. The broken, needy orphan who idolized him; the model patient who inspired and delighted him.
But the stronger I got, the more scared he got, and everything declined from there. He didn’t like me having a self; more for me meant less for him. In a way I’m not losing much, because what was really left? It wasn’t the same any more; the feeling of satisfaction had died; the feeling of love and connection; the feeling of pushing through barriers to find the light.
I think I may find some surprises now; I might find strength and clarity and a whole, integrated self. I might find myself free of the need to stupefy myself, to give myself away, to restrain myself. I might find, free of Derek, someone much more solid and defined than I could have imagined. After all, isn’t that what these years have been for, all the anguish and pain and reenacting? Haven’t I been the braver, stronger and edgier one — the one willing to risk more and feel more and be more?
The difference between Derek and me is that I have been forging ahead, climbing to the top internally; while he, appearing to be doing so externally, has been, in fact, getting heavier, slower, more burdened, more removed from the reality he has professed to seek.
And therein lies the difference. We have grown in different directions, and he is no longer enough for me. All of his education and book learning and prestige can never match my integrity, courage and strength. He has the former; I have the latter, and both of us know the difference.