Never did I think I would ever argue with my therapist. At times he became a bigger threat to me than my family by accepting my anger. I became emotionally dependent on him, and hated him for it. I was hostile dependent towards him. My need to vent anger pulled me towards therapy, at the same time I wanted to push it all away and be safe from it. My feelings towards my family were transferred to my therapist. It was safer to feel angry at him. He was there to cop my past feelings towards brother, sister, mother, and father.

I searched for excuses to feel hostile towards him, and then pounced. Each time he accepted my attack, I let him in closer. He never seemed phased by my painful words, accusation, and descriptions of whatever I had done to HIM during fantasy with emotion. It annoyed the hell out of me when he had an answer or explanation for my outbursts. And the few times I was right, he apologized.

I was too angry to see the logic in all his explanations. I just wanted to lash out and blame him for all my pain. It seemed like I was paying him to hurt me. He kept trying to get me to connect the anger I felt towards him to my family. That was difficult because I was emotionally dependent on him, and feared his rejection if I were to show that amount of intense anger.

The more he accepted my anger, the more I trusted him. The more I depended on him, the more I could let go of my emotional dependence on my mother. He was stronger and more likable than my mother. Eventually I was prepared to cut those ties with the Ma, and move deeper down into infantile rage.

I am beginning to think my dependency is now more so on the process of therapy, rather than the therapist himself. Since much of my angst and rage has been vented I am more accepting of the therapist. I admire him as a good person, and a great therapist. He is a funny bugger too.

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