There were eighteen months of couples counseling before the close. Not the
first bout by any means, but most certainly the last. And as with all
previous rounds, it dragged on far too long.
There were actually two therapists this time. The first had to withdraw
after she got into an all out screaming insult match with Mary.
Others had been set up for failure, but this was the first one who lost it during a session. She was no match for Mary in
threat-defense mode. I was just the audience paying top ticket at cheap
melodrama. And that was the end of that.
The second LCSW feminist therapist was a sturdy, stocky, former New Yorker
who seemed determined to save yet another "lesbian" relationship from a
lingering death rattle. Though Mary and I declared our lack of sexual
attraction to one another, the New Yorker pressed on with her personal goal
of reviving this aspect of our relationship starved by distaste more than
twenty years earlier. Of course, there was also the possibility she knew we'd be a long-term cash cow the minute we slouched though her door.
And there was also the fact that all took place in Helena, Montana.
News of the Mary/therapist blowup, fueled by the fact that Mary had
threatened to have the therapist's license revoked for inappropriate
behavior during a session, spread though out the "healing" community like
wildfire.
Essentially, we kept a power and control three-way going for about a year. A
few months before the end, I was exhausted by the absolute futility of the
effort. The therapist, probably out of reluctance to give up a cash cow,
always had a reason to carry on, usually based upon some version of “it’s
always darkest before the dawn”….”if you feel bad, that’s good”. Mary
meanwhile, was busy directing the latest act in a lifelong play. The climax
came just a few weeks before Christmas. I had a month to get out of the
house.
And So It Goes
I crouched on the bathroom floor, fingers in my ears, back pressed against
the locked door while my teenage son screamed obscenities at me from the
other side.
My mind was a deluge of decisions and reasons that were now drowning my
soul in self-doubt. “How did I get here? Buried in a slurry of
psychodrama?” If only this and if only that.
How did an absurd melodrama become a logical conclusion?
That familiar rush of self-doubt then the magical thinking that hopes it
will all go away. The trap that might be escaped by telling the
story.
___________________
