So I went to the extra session with the therapist lady. It was fine, but not good. I am not nearly as articulate as our dear “host” (hate that word, but I can’t think of anything better right now), so I am pretty sure I did more damage than good to the therapeutic relationship. I’m not sure she figured out she was talking to a different part until the end, so she probably was confused as fuck and super annoyed at my inherent resistance and basic lack of verbal communication skills.
But I did talk. Well, I tried to talk anyway. I told her that there are just always so many things I could say, so it’s hard to know where to begin. Plus there has been a whole lot of regulations put on what I’m allowed to say throughout my life and let’s just say people historically have not responded very well to the shit I have to share. Among other delightful things, I’ve been called a liar, manipulative, crazy, psychotic, delusional, attention-seeking, and a plain old “spoiled brat” by a variety of mental health professionals, family members, and other random assholes. So I tend to just freeze up. I am terrified of saying the wrong thing or of being accused of any of the aforementioned undesirable character traits.