by Restin Wells
Chapter Five
If I did admit my dependency on Dr. Tilden, what did I want her to do to help my fear? Was it a sexual thing? Did I have to admit I was gay? Did I just want her presence? Did I need her to hug me? Be like...my mother...whatever that involved? I really didn't know. Furthermore, I was beginning to have the first glimmers that it wasn't just myself as an adult that was wanting things in this situation.
I didn't have any conscious sexual arousal, nor urge to imagine a sexual act. I could admire either men or women, when they seemed superior or talented. I was married to an older, worldly-wise man, and had felt a similar dependency upon him when I was younger. Besides, I was proud of my sexual sophistication--even if I were a ranch girl just up from the country. I was embarrassed, and resentful, when some mental health professionals suggested my need for Dr. T boiled down to being homosexual. It seemed an excuse some people used when they weren't capable of thinking on a deeper level.
I recalled reading in some of the psychology courses at the university that the infantile level isn’t sexually differentiated yet into male or female preference, nor sublimated into platonic types of love. My feelings seemed to come from a very young age--maybe one or two years old. I didn't try to deny that my feelings for my therapists had sexual roots in some manner, as I had become well read in analytic theory. But my need for Dr. T was even beyond sexual. It was life and death: the way a person feels before God Almighty, or facing the reality of losing life, or their most beloved person in the world. It seemed that Dr T were more like that supremely important super-person who determines whether or not I am someone of special value in the world. In her presence I felt happy and secure, but away from her I felt empty and scared.
Yet, those feelings are those a child has for parents, and for God when he is older. I realized even then that Dr. Tilden had no such powers in real life. The strange but overwhelming influence was such a mystery, yet the most important mystery in all of life! I could no longer deny how strong the feeling was, how compelling to the point of mortal terror, in a less mature part of myself. It seemed to me it was only therapists, certain ones of them, who listened and cared. Very few people in my ordinary life gave the kind of attention that could evoke my emotions that way. It was bewildering, yet it was clear that I was at least tapping into those infatuation feelings everyone has who worships a sports hero, an actor or singer, the pastor of their church, or a lover. But whatever it was, I couldn't stop the fear of losing my connection with Dr. T. It seemed an impossible situation. On top of all that, sitting like a beastly ogre, was Dr. T's recent declaration that I had to get over being dependent upon her, and accept being alone in the world!
I wasn't a total dumb bunny. I knew I had a great discrepancy there. The entire matter of Dr. Tilden meant personal holocaust to some primordial concerns within myself. I could no longer afford to deny it. As I sat there in the corner of the conference room, I put my arms around my knees, and bowed my head down on top of them. I felt something ominous welling up from deep inside, and I was aware of having that panicky conclusion that I had to die. I felt terrible guilt that I couldn’t master my childishness. I felt I had lost control over a perverse entity that required impossible things I could never supply.
I wondered how I could have such a need/love for someone I hardly knew in real life. It had always been important to be self-reliant, and invulnerable to anything anyone could try to do to me. I never asked anyone for anything, and had no use for emotional or petty problems, with friends, or otherwise. I prided myself on being able to manage all emotional problems with sheer force of will power. I saw no excuse, for myself, or anyone else, for letting any relationship problem get out of hand. It was a most disastrous discovery to know I couldn't stand up to this, which could take me for a ride against my will.
I didn't understand what I wanted so much from Dr. T, other than keep on having appointments and have her listen to my deepest of thoughts. I always insisted to myself that's all I wanted. Yet, behind all the talk about my marriage and career, my symptoms and medications, was my gut level knowing that all I really cared about was her presence and approval. I had become attached to her in a way I had never experienced with anyone I could remember, yet was a way haunted by anxiety and hope of rescue. I felt okay only when I could rest assured Dr. T wouldn't end the therapy before I was "cured", well enough to endure losing her. But I didn't trust luck that it would come out even in the end. And I knew it would end. She would pronounce me well--and I would surely die. She would never know what I really needed, to not die of fear. We would solve everything but the real thing, and therapy would terminate. TERMINATE. That was the word. The worst word in the whole world of words. Termination and ANNIHILATION, the other most awful word. That was what waited for me, the day therapy was over.
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Restin Wells