....left behind

I got off of the school bus at 2:50 each afternoon. That gave me 10 minutes to get home before General Hospital started. Her name was Ginny Blake Webber and she was beautiful; dark curly hair and the most beautiful blue expressive eyes. I swear she could see me through the TV with those eyes. Ginny Blake Webber. As soap operas go, Ginny wasn’t on every episode, usually every other day, and I had no interest in watching any of the other story lines. Really, I wasn’t interested in any of the story lines, just the fantasy I had in my head that Ginny Webber was my mother. My “real” mother. Even though Ginny was about as dysfunctional as they come (typical of any soap opera character, I suppose) I felt a strange childish attachment to her. And when she left the show I was devastated- and in my maladaptive child way – she left me. I’ve never watched a soap opera since. Ginny Blake Webber...she was beautiful and she left me.

And I keep replaying in my mind all the times I felt *attached* to someone in my life (mainly teachers growing up)...whether in reality, or a fantasy in my child-like brain – longing for someone to love me for me...not “friend” love, but parental love. And I remember feeling the loss of those attachments and logically I know that the relationship with the therapist is not the same – but I look back to that time well over a year ago when she took her support (as the 5 year old saw it) away and why should I let her back in? It’s a big trigger for me now....how do I make it “feel” different? I will never be anything more than a *client* to the therapist – she doesn’t *need* me, not in the way that I *needed* her then when she left me behind. And I can’t let myself feel any attachment to her now, not outwardly, no matter how much I long to connect with her *internally*.

I took a huge risk in trusting her...and even though she hasn’t technically left...it feels like she left anyway -that night – I remember standing on deck, standing in my basement, knowing I was going to die, just not knowing how.  And she did not have time for me.  She did not care then if I lived or died. "Pull it together until Monday, Grace.  I don't have time..."  I remember begging her to help me a week later – and I remember her voice was different, stern and clinical. Out came the list of *rules*. The 5 year old pushed the limit – the therapist had no more room for her, not anymore.

Years later, flipping through the television channels – I remember seeing Ginny Blake Webber again on a different soap opera. She still had the same dark curly hair, the same expressive blue eyes, the same voice, but she wasn’t Ginny anymore, she was someone else. Someone I knew from the past but not anymore....

I grew up in dangerous situations. I learned very early on how to read a person by just the sound of a voice. By the mere sound of my mother or step-father’s voice I would know how the night would turn out. I can tell where the therapist is too – by her words, her posture...and especially her voice. I can tell if she has time for me or if she thinks I am acting like a ‘petulant child’ simply by the way she says my name. Or even her name if I leave her a message and she calls me back.

I don’t know how to connect with her now...not in real life. I don’t know if I can trust her or if she will really be there for me when I need her...or if she will say my name, with an inflection at the end, which tells she does not have time for me... and once again tell me to deal with it.  So I won't take that calculated risk...I won't allow any reaching out for her...."in those moments of tempting the face of expected rejection/abandonment...make a different choice." 

It has been a horrible weekend!  I haven't left the house or even gotten dressed.  My hips and lower back ache - I have cramps, my head aches, and I keep having to run to the bathroom from waves of nausea and crying jags.  And I am fighting myself every minute ~ all day and all night....What would happen if I called the therapist righ now for help?  Would I hear an inflection in her voice indicating that she has no time for me?  And I know there is no way I can handle seeing the host body without her support.  I can't. 

What if the therapist doesn’t have room for me anymore?