Unhelpful things therapists have said to me:
- You’re blushing
- You’re crying; you’re upset, aren’t you?
- Of course you don’t have any friends – you’re always moving around. What do you expect?
- Did you have an unhappy childhood? (Me: no). Were you an unhappy child? (Me: no) Did sad things happen when you were a child? (Me: Well, a few, of course. Like anyone. But nothing unusual) Let’s talk about them.
- You’re not trying
- So would you say you’re not looking after yourself? (Me: I suppose so). You have to look after yourself
- Join a meet-up. Join a dating agency
- Don’t be so paranoid
- Don’t let yourself cry so much
- Don’t be so critical
- You have to change your thinking (Me: How?) (No answer)
- (Disapprovingly) So you haven’t done what I asked you to? (Me: No, sorry. I’ve had a bad week. I haven’t been able to do anything). You need to do the things I ask you to.
- But you’re still working so it can’t be that bad
- Be kind to yourself (Oh, I hadn’t thought of that! Problem solved, thanks)
No more therapy for me.
I’ve seen five therapists, tried general talking therapies and CBT, and I haven’t responded to any of them. Not the strict ones, not the floaty, poncho-wearing ones, not the patronising ones, not the ones who state the obvious (Oh dear, said Number 4, you seem to be very depressed. Yep, and now I’m even more depressed at thought of spending 65 euros to sit on an uncomfortable sofa for an hour biting back the constant urge to snap No hit, Sherlock).
I get that it’s largely my fault, but the thought of sitting in another falsely-homely room while someone smiles at me with their mouth and with varying degrees of directness tells me to pull myself together is too much. A wall has gone up. My tendency to sarcasm and cynicism has won; my suspicion of being patronised or treated like a child/an idiot has triumphed. Therapy is in the past tense. Therapy was.
There will be no more sentences to add to my collection above.