Today I cried

[...]I'm not crying
It's just been raining, on my face
And if you think you see some tear tracks down my cheeks
Please. Please, don't tell my mates
I'm not crying
No, I'm not crying
And if I am crying
It's not because of you [...]

"I'm not crying" by Flight Of The Conchords

Today felt like a significant day. After more than three years with Jay (and probably well over 200 sessions), I cried with him for the first time. I have struggled so hard to keep myself from losing it. To keep myself from falling apart. Yet today the little girl inside me curled up in the waiting room, with her Pooh Bear clutched close to her chest, barricading herself in the corner with two chairs, refusing to get up and enter the therapy room.

And I cried.

And cried.

And Jay bore with me.

He sat down on the remaining chair and respectfully allowed me my space by not looking directly at me and staying well away from my line of vision. We talked and we were quiet, and as the tears subsided I could feel myself slowly being reformed. I had dreaded this moment for months, years even, for fear of falling apart and not being put back together.

It is hard to explain the disintegration I so dread. A feeling unlike any other. As if someone picked up an eraser and started to slowly wipe me out of existence. They start at my feet, disconnecting me from the world around me. I can feel myself floating and I know that I have to stop them from erasing me entirely, for if I am erased completely I will never be able to come back. I will not be able to reform and people will never be able to connect to me again. From the time they have erased my feet, the anxiety mounts and starts to rapidly rise to an unmanageable level. I have to keep them from erasing me fully, thus panic starts setting in. I have to stop them, I need to stop them. I frantically search for my razorblades, my fingers trembling as I try to unwrap a fresh blade. I press it into my skin and drag the blade across. And only then, when I feel the sharp, stabbing pain and see the red crimson bubble up from my newly made incision, can I feel myself being put back together. I can feel my feet on the ground, I notice my surroundings, and the panic slowly subsides with every new cut.

For this reason I only ever cry when I am by myself (so I can self-harm to ground myself) or when my partner is home (so he can ground me). I do not allow other people to see me cry because I'm scared I won't be able to put myself back together in time. My partner knows how to contain me, knows when to let me throw things around the room, when to let me hit him, when to let me bang my head against the wall. And he also knows exactly when to hug me, when to wrap his arms around me so I can't move, how long to hold me for before he lets go, in short, how to put me back together.

Neither of these two options can be used when I'm with Jay. He obviously won't let me hurt myself and professional boundaries prevent him from holding me and hugging me. This is what I feared most. That if I would start to fall apart during a session, I would disappear, for Jay wouldn't be able to glue the pieces back together in time for me to leave in one piece.

And yet today, this is exactly what seems to have happened.

While I was waiting in his waiting room (and at times like these I count myself lucky Jay has a private practice at his house, so there is no-one else but me sitting there) I could feel myself starting to fall apart. I could feel the tears in my eyes, could feel my pulse rise and my breathing quicken. I tried hard to push back the tears, but today my body would not listen. I tried to hold my breath and tense every muscle in my body to keep the tears in, but today my tried and tested method failed me.

As the tears started falling, I could feel myself grow smaller. In wanting to protect the little me, I slid off my chair, onto the floor. Dragged the heater across from me, and barricaded myself behind two chairs and one coffee table, safely shielded from view, where my quiet sobs would neither be ridiculed, nor punished. And when Jay walked in to get me for my session, he just sat down and was gentle with the little girl sobbing on the floor and "held" her as much as he could, from one chair away.

Today, I cried.

Thank you for reading.

Yours truly,

GI