The Betrayal of a Mental Health Therapist

A therapist is supposed to be the most trusted person in one's life. The right therapist can be your best confidant. A mental health therapist's, soothing advice can be a great guide. The knowledgeable and wise mental health professionals, who care about helping people, can assist, in altering your future for the best possible outcome. Allowing you to pull out, or purge dark secrets and indescribable pain hidden deep within your core. Therapists are there for all those pivotal moments that have allowed you to make positive changes in your life. Your friendship or bond is limited, you aren't there for them, and they are there to comfort and soothe you. He or she may make you a nice, warm cup of mellowing tea, while handing you a box of kleenex, while you tell them every miserable detail of your predictable life. Mental health professionals are there to"validate" your feelings, give expert opinions on how to get over a broken heart, or how to mend a damaged relationship. This is what you pay them thousands of dollars for. A real therapist stays true, loyal and never betrays you.

I had a therapist, one to whom meant the world to me. The woman who I called to tell my deepest fears, the most intimate details of my double life, was let in to my world hesitantly. Smoothly, she entered my life. Cunningly, she slipped out of it.

A mental health professional to whom I trusted with my life, betrayed me. She left me stranded when I needed her the most. Her loyalties never lied with me. I was a toy, a gadget too easy to play with. I had lived my life as a mind controlled, dissassociatve slave, since the day I took my first breath of life. I was going to make this woman a lot of money. She only had to listen to the people that wanted to keep me in this state, and take me for what I was worth.

Perhaps, I revealed too much hitting nerves that awakened my therapist's own masked horrors. My endless crying, heart throbbing sobs, and vindictive outbursts, secretly sickened her. Maybe the little, wounded, abused girl in her deeply despised me, for picking and pecking at her festering wounds. I was not supposed to make progress or strides on my own. I could only progress on her terms.

Did she enjoy watching my parts or alters inside my head squeal and squirm in emotional agony? She took a graceful bow, for the memory work she had encouraged to emerge through my bulging thread-like seams. How clever was she, to hide the fact that she too was a multiple, living a a structured lie. Inviting her evil alters to my sessions to torture my soul some more. Leading me on this wild rollercoaster ride of recovery, and then just as I am about to safely get off the ride, she pushes me off damaging, and re-opening wounds, that she had helped to close. The bittersweet taste of my suffering was a flavor she savored. She could hide behind her own painful demons, and giggle behind heavy doors at all her sickly, weak, pathetic, clients that were just like me, and secretly just like her.

We had 4 years of weekly, 2 hr. intense sessions. Her cries with me during heart wrenching emotional times all disappeared. Her behavior became dry. She teased and taunted me. Her mind manipulation techniques increased.'She stopped returning my phone calls; her receptionist never booked any more appointments for me. The client confidentiality agreement was breached. Secrets were leaked. She was not batting for my team, but for the team of my enemies.

I don't know what the real truthful reason was for leaving me like a lonely, desperate infant on a door step. I can only use my intellect and sharp instincts to guess.

What is clear and a reality is that she left me. As I take healing strides on my own, in the back of my mind, my therapist, and her betrayal will always be a haunting puzzle.