Cara Silver’s Story

In 5^th grade I met with Dr.M. He was stoic but curious and pleasant at the same time. I found him intriguing. At my little desk in school I wrote all my angsty feelings in a journal that was a bunch of pages stapled together. I brought it to him to show him what was going on in class. I was very angry at my mean teacher. He read it and affixed his cool blue eyes on me. This is very well written. Can I keep it? I felt special and appreciated and handed it to him proudly. That year I don’t remember therapy with him. Not at all. It could be that as the supervising social worker he gave me an intake and referred me to the school counselor-or I saw him out of school. I have no recollection of sessions with him except for the first one when he pocketed my journal. The next year, 6^th grade, I began having pervasive suicidal thoughts and urges. Seemingly out of nowhere.  I would sit on the windowsill in my second story bedroom and imagine my body smashed and bleeding on the grass below. My English teacher was very concerned after seeing my death-themed creative writing essays and called my parents. They sent me to Dr. M, but again I don’t remember much of my sessions with him. I do remember that he told me to write. To journal my feelings. I was afraid to feel my feelings and he told me to get them out on the pages. I wrote furiously and now have many notebooks filled with writing.

Fast forward to my young adult life. I was 20 and my parents separated. I felt enormous fear and insecurity stepping out into my future without a home, parents, financial security or family. My family was split into sides, my parents absorbed in their own pain, and I was floundering. I scheduled a session with Dr. M. He was abrupt and cold. Why are you here? I don’t know. Ok. What do you want? I don’t know. Do you want to leave? Yes. So leave. That was our first session when I was 20. I left and didn’t come back for a few years. But I kept coming back. Even though I felt all wrong sitting across from him. Something deep in my gut screamed, “run away!!!” but all I could do was keep coming back. I worked hard in therapy with Sara, an amazing trauma therapist, but my life kept spiraling out of control. I was suicidal, self-harming, and suffered from extreme mood swings. And after 3 amazing years of therapy with Sara I came back to Dr. M.

I had a theory that until I uncovered this weird love/hate transference dynamic that arose between me and Dr. M, I would never fully heal. He supported it, even though we stopped and started a few times. At the time I was feeling exquisitely lonely and cut off from family. Close friends were supportive, but no one truly understood what I was going through. My family was torn apart and I was left raw and bleeding. A friend of mine mentioned that she went to Dr. M and when she was having a hard session, he held her hand. I stared, electrified. I wanted so badly for someone to hold me, to disappear into a safe embrace. I so dearly wished for a break from this frightening world that I was thrust into without warning. I went to Dr. M with an agenda this time. I wanted him to hold me. To make me feel safe. But of course I bided my time. I wanted to slowly seduce him. I reasoned that was the only way he would hold me. This became my mission in sessions with him. I started becoming obsessed with him, texting him all the time. I tried to mold myself into the person he would love. His style of therapy was very rough. He believed in full on honesty and not slowly peeling off the layers, but cutting straight to the core. I had come from a compassionate gentle therapist, and found this at once challenging, fascinating, and painful. At the beginning I had more of a self, and was able to come back to my body after his sessions. I told him repeatedly that his style was too intense for me and after a while he listened. So we took a short break of playing board games, painting and just talking. There was sexual tension between us and I always tried to push his boundaries, but he held firm. I asked him to hold my hand and he said no. All this while I was bombing him with texts that slowly became more inappropriate. As time went on, he began to see me in his home office, in the basement of his house. In sessions I was seductive and charming and the tension between us continued to build. Outside of sessions my life was starting to fall apart. I was enmeshed in a destructive toxic relationship with a friend that we both couldn’t or didn’t want to break off. I was also becoming consumed with my obsession for Dr. M and felt myself sinking into a morass of instability. My grades in Uni were still high, my job was fine- I kept up a great cover, but inside I felt intense pain, loss of self, and confusion. As the weeks went on and he said nothing about my inappropriate texts I pushed further and began sending him nude photos. He didn’t respond to these either, but if I was trying to arrange a session- immediately after sending the pictures, he was suddenly available and we arranged a session for the following day. In the sessions in his home, he guided me to explore the parts of myself that were acting out. Let’s ask the sexual part what is going on, he said. Instead of answering I felt my core self slip away and I became the part. I felt like I couldn’t talk. I cornered him and wordlessly tried to hug him. He resisted but I fought him and pressed my body against him until he gave up fighting and let me hug him. I put his arms around me. What does this part want to say, he prompted me.  Please please can you hold me? I begged him in a small desperate voice that didn’t feel like my own. Everything in me was yearning for his touch. I wanted to feel safe in his arms, and I wanted it more than anything. Everything inside of me is saying no. he said, looking at my wide pleading eyes. Please please… I whispered hoarsely. I felt so small and lost and kept asking over and over. You know everything will change, don’t you? I nodded slightly, not caring at all. He sat down and I nestled on his lap and cuddled my face into his neck. He let out a tiny sigh and I let out a deep shuddering sigh of relief. His arms lay limply at his sides and I picked them up and wrapped them around me. He didn’t let go. He held me. I felt blissfully safe in this cocoon of his embrace. Relax, he whispered, you’re so tight. Breathe, relax. I softened my body against his. Good, he said. Good. I felt so cared for. I closed my eyes, breathed in his clean sweet scent, and time and space suspended. Suddenly he was gently patting me, I have to go to my next client. I silently slipped off him, gave him a quick hug and left. As I sat in my car I felt drugged, sleepy and cozy, but also very silent. I went home and my already crazy obsession with him exploded. I watched his house and car, I followed him and I compulsively texted him all day. He scheduled me as the last client of the day and he continued to hold me when I asked.  I felt so safe and loved and good for those brief respites in his arms. He continued to try to explore where this transference was coming from and every time he looked too deep I became a frightened little girl who needed him desperately. One time I pulled off my clothes. He promptly walked out. I texted him, come back! He texted back, I’m not coming back until you put your clothes back on. I quickly dressed and he came back. How old are you? I couldn’t talk. If you tell me how old you are then I’ll hold you. 3, I choked out. Why does a three year old need to be seductive in order to be loved? Shhh, I told him, now can you hold me? You promised. That’s not what I said, he demurred but I climbed onto his lap anyways and closed my eyes with another deep sigh of relief. The constant rock of terror in my chest relaxed and I could finally breathe. After it ended I felt good and cozy but silent. There was something unraveling inside of me. Faster than before. In between sessions I was a wreck. I was living from session to session but all of the instability, the insane relationship with my friend and the dependency on Dr. M were pulling me into a downward spiral that threatened to implode at any moment. At this point I wanted to go further than him just holding me and I mentioned it casually In a session and explicitly over texts. I want to have sex, but no penetration. I’m scared of penetration. Why do you get to decide that, he mumbled under his breath. I ignored the comment- but felt warmed that he was interested. I constantly needed to test him, to see if he truly cared. I was ramping up the intensity of this relationship that had no boundaries. One time I pressed him, you need to set boundaries with me.  Why, he countered. Will you listen to them? No. I answered, but you still need to put them in place, and also you can have consequences. He seemed amused by my advice but he never took it. I still take full responsibility for my side in this. I was in an unhealthy place and desperately yearned for his love. And I would do whatever it took to get it. He knew that but was still trying to help me get to the root of this transference. Who am I, he asked when I was the little girl. Daddy. I said simply. When I was in the 3 year old place it was very hard to talk. After the sessions I came home, watched cartoons and sucked my thumb. My inner world went silent, and I regressed rapidly without caring. Sometimes, after a session I would sit in the car, too small to know how to drive home. It was an agonizing pain, going into the lil girl part and not knowing how to come out. One night, I had had enough, but didn’t see a reasonable way out. When I was in crisis out of session Dr. M was absent. I couldn’t handle his distance and anxiety and panic soared within me. I spilled the remaining anxiety pills into my palm and stared at the small yellow cylinders. Without another thought I swallowed the mound of pills in my palm with a swig of water and went to my car for a drive. I started feeling cloudy and woozy but I could still drive. I drove and drove with no destination in mind. After 20 minutes I called my mentor and in a blurry voice told her what I had done. She called my previous psychiatrist and tried to keep me on the phone. I gotta go, I said blearily and hung up. I started feeling terribly tired so after 40 or so minutes of driving I swung into a dunkin donuts parking lot and stopped. I started to nod off but she kept calling back. Wha? I fumbled with my words. I felt cozy and safe again and just wanted to fall asleep. Where are you? She repeated urgently, I’m coming to get you. I don’t know. Don know. Just want Dr. M. only Dr. M. Her and another friend knocked on his door and woke him up. All I knew was that he was coming to get me and I felt excited although another part of me had this sickening feeling that I had gone way too far. He came and spoke to me to gauge my state of alertness. He told me to go back in my car and he would follow behind me until I got home. As we neared my house I couldn’t bear for him to leave so I started swerving into the creek. He jumped out of his car and barreled into my front seat. He snatched my key out of the ignition and called the ambulance. I tried to run away but he sat on me and I struggled against him weakly. This is just what you want, isn’t it? he said. I did. My inner world had become so painful and out of control it felt good to be forcibly held down. It felt grounding. My reflexes were very slow but I still tried to get away. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck in a hospital. I was terrified but the effects of the drugs made me move slower and feel a much more muted and small fear reaction inside. When they came, the paramedics took me into the ambulance and shone the flashlight in my face, shooting questions at me. My mind was still silent and numb with a low fear pounding dully in my heart. My face was closed and I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I felt out of my body. She’s disassociating. Dr. M informed them. He looked straight at me. Will you talk to them if I come? I nodded wordlessly and he followed the ambulance to the hospital. At the hospital while he was filling out paperwork I made another pathetic attempt to run away, and they put me in the psych maximum security division. It was like a jail. Demoralizing. He came with me. I was scared. Can you hug me? I asked him. Cameras everywhere, he said. I’m hugging you in my head. I nodded then lay on the mattress in the room with just a thin curtain for privacy and fell asleep. I was in the psych er for 3 awful isolating days and another 3 days in an adult psych unit. Dr. M never called to check up on me and I fumed internally. But after my stay, I came back to him again. This time was different though. Why didn’t you stay in touch? I asked. Why did you hospitalize me? Why didn’t you talk to me? I was different. After my brush with death, I knew I needed real help, I called a close friend of my father’s and told him the whole story. He started shouting at me. Do you want to end up like ____? He named someone who had made disastrous choices that ruined his life. You need to stop seeing this therapist immediately and you need to clean up your act. I stopped seeing him and started to focus on activities that built me up as a person. I moved into an apartment with girls and tried to pick up the broken pieces of my shattered self. It was the hospital stay that prompted me to seek health again. I promised myself that I would never end up there again. After leaving I felt deeply depressed, but I had an inner resolve. I knew if I didn’t get better I would die. I contacted an old flame that I knew in my bones was a healthy relationship and we dated slowly. We were completely open with each other about our issues and went to plenty of premarital counseling. We got married and had kids and life went on and I stabilized, thank G-d, but I kept randomly thinking about Dr. M. we ended off with me telling him to block my number. I was so confused and ran through the events in my head repeatedly. I felt like it was entirely my fault. After a year or two he called and asked forgiveness. Yes, I answered but I was still confused. Wasn’t it my fault? It was. It definitely was. Several years after it happened I somehow got into talking about it with a friend who was a therapist. It was his fault! She emphasized. I don’t care if you threw yourself at him- it was his responsibility to uphold his boundaries! He could’ve referred you to a colleague! Or stopped seeing you altogether! My mind reeled. And the next few days I walked around in a daze. My limbs felt like they were floating away. I don’t know why I had such a strong bodily reaction to her words. I tried explaining it to my husband but he couldn’t bear to hear about it. You definitely played a big part in it, he said. But she said it wasn’t my fault! But you instigated it!

As I continued to process I realized what my draw to him was and why it hurt so much. He was kind in session, but he was also absent a lot. When I needed him out of session he usually ignored me. When I texted or emailed him he saw the messages and didn’t respond. He was the absent father that I grew up with. The father that came home from work and went downstairs to smoke and isolate. The father that I yearned for a connection with. I do have good memories of my father, but the last time I felt completely safe and loved with him was at age 3. We often talked about these feelings of transference- but we couldn’t overcome them. I was attracted to an unavailable father so I could repeat my trauma. But also- when he held me, in the moment it felt amazing, but after I felt so confused and awful. I think because it encouraged my dependency on him and I felt so small with no feet to stand on and no tools to use to help myself.

You should report him, my friend urged, what’s his name? I clammed up. I want to protect him. I truly believe he was good to me. So that is why I remain confused. I read all the other stories and they sounded abusive and creepy. But Dr. M truly cared about me. I think…or maybe I would like to think. What do you think?