Meh.

Today’s session brought a lot of shame with it. Having to admit how desperate and anxious I felt during my first therapy experience is hard. When I talk about things like that, I feel like this sort of monster… and it makes me scared that other people will think I am too.

The session brought up a lot of grief for L. How much I miss her. How much I know my grief is still alive because, despite knowing logically it’s impossible for us to have a connection again, emotionally I’m not there yet. How much it hurts.

How embarrassing it feels to relive some of the ways I tried to cling to the relationship. How desperately I feared the end, and how much that fear drove my behavior.

And now, with this therapist, I’m feeling anxious about what she must think of me. I don’t know. I miss how deeply connected I felt with L. No one has ever quite touched that feeling in the same way. Not that I really want it to. I couldn’t handle it. (I really couldn’t.) That was a feeling I wasn’t prepared to be able to handle.

Classic disorganized attachment, honestly. To want badly, but to fear just as badly.