I Hate my Therapist


It’s Saturday. It’s one of those days where you feel like the weight of the whole world is on your shoulders and you can’t do one thing right all day.
I started therapy a few years ago, and ever since I have found it almost near impossible to connect to a therapist, or any male that resemble him. I hate him because he gave me no choice in my treatment, or choice to end it, I hate him that he lied to me and his partner.

I’ve been reading online how a therapist-client relationship usually is, or should be, and it’s nothing like what him and I had. It had to be special, a secret.
I was his favourite; he’d schedule sessions either very early or very late, when no one else was around on the floor. He’d arrange the room, mostly, how I wanted it to be arranged, I could sometimes draw or write in my own journals while talking.
Was I really that special and important? And what for?

When the discussions were going good, it was almost magical, but they were too little and too far in between. Usually, in some sessions, we’d just argue.

I cannot tell to this day, if my own memory is playing tricks on me, if I projected something, if I created a ‘fantasy’ that turned into a monster of a situation, or if this is reality. What if it was all an illusion? How does one tell if they’re normal or insane?
I just end up blaming myself and calling myself insane, and just push any memory of him somewhere, away from me. As if to say, yea that’s not me, I don’t remember who that person was.
He’s not blameless either. He held most of the power in the relationship, I toyed with it sometimes, to see how he’d react. He seemed very eager to be of service and do what I wanted. But at any time, he could have also realised that this isn’t a normal relationship, that either one wants more, and that we should stop. He went against everything in the book, and it resulted in disaster. He lied about everything about his life, maybe to keep me around and create this image of him, that he wanted, or thought that that’s himself.

The relationship feels tainted, he feels tainted, I feel tainted and murky.

My friends usually tell me I should get out of my head, that I’m thinking too much. Is thinking too much a bad trait? Is wanting to know (everything) bad? I want reasons for things that are happening. I need reasons and explanations. How did my therapist, over the course of a few months, went down a trajectory so destructive, that even two years after, I can’t move on or do anything about it, or even find any reason for it? How did my therapist decide that he liked me? How did he decide that it should be a secret? And WHY?

All that time, while I was seeing him, he always said he was single. Turns out, he’s had a partner for a while, instead. He lied to her, he lied to me, who knows else he lied to.
Radical acceptance isn’t enough, I know he lied, I know he won’t change. So now what? Just move on and pretend nothing happened and hope it won’t happen again? Accept I basically got scammed, for no reason? Maybe I’m just selfish and delusional in thinking anything, any feelings were ever there.

There were days where he’d be bold, funny, masculine, he’d wear perfume that was just so hot, he’d take more iniative or come closer to me. Back then, I didn’t know what to do, so I’d stay in place, kind of just looking at him, now I just wish I had gotten a bit closer, moved a little closer, held his hand longer.
And then there were days where it felt like I didn’t even mattered to him, as a person, not just as a ‘client’.

After about a year after I ended therapy with him, I managed to squeeze a session very randomly, out of nowhere. I’m not sure what compelled me to do so, maybe fear or uncertainty. All I really remember from that day, was that I asked him if he ever thinks of me, and he said, yes constantly, all the time. I think of him all the time too…

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