We’re talking about relationships and my bra is showing. The button on my top has undone itself and I quickly do it up in embarrassment. At least if my psychiatrist had noticed that it was undone he also would have noticed how quickly I fixed it. I tell him I don’t want a relationship and that I just want someone who is there that cares for me. He says that sounds like a relationship and goes on to explain that relationships come in many forms. “There’s no one who would be able to understand me.”, I say. “Your friends understand you, your family understands you…”, This is not the right path for him to go down and I correct him quickly, “They do not!” He says that he understands me and I say, “You think you understand me because you’re smart and you’re a psychiatrist but you really don’t.” He isn’t offended by this and I am glad because I didn’t mean to sound so mean. “You hate me.” I say. I feel guilty for how I am acting but I cant seem to stop it. He reassures me that he doesn’t hate me.
“Why do you want me to be in a relationship anyway? It’s not going to fix anything!”, I say angrily. He calmly tells me that I seem to be wanting some sort of companionship. I tell him that I wouldn’t respect anyone who did exactly what I wanted them to do. If I found the perfect “partner” in whatever sense, I would have to ruin the relationship because I would hate them for being what I want. My psychiatrist can’t argue with this.
“I’m going to go and date a complete arsehole so I can come back and tell you all about it next time!”, I say. He knows I am joking and we are able to have a little bit of a laugh together. I spend the rest of the session casually checking on my willful button.