I am out with lanterns, looking for myself. – Emily Dickinson

From the very first session, my therapist bluntly admitted that she thought I was a challenge, and not just because I knew psychology, so she couldn't just quickly reach into the "psychological bag of tricks."

At the very beginning, there was also a crucial test, in the sense that we had reached a point where I had already opened up, at least a little bit... so she had come close to me, so to speak... and I was suddenly seized by a wild rage that I became really aggressive towards her. Of course, because I had become panic-stricken about betrayal again... and attack is the best defense... I was like a wounded wild animal, scratching and biting and beating its hooves.

Her reaction or response to this was one of the first very big positive surprises of my life, because of course she did not let me scare her away so easily - rather she told me very clearly that I had hurt her very much and that she would not tolerate any further such attacks, and would only work with me in a respectful way. She herself was calm, polite, even friendly in a certain way.

I remember that phone call very well. I was in the office and wondered afterwards what that had just been...? Had she just rebuked me? In any case, she had not run away (i.e., stopped the therapy)... Oh!... How could that be? Wasn't she afraid of me and my anger? Yes... but... huh?... I had hurt her very much... had I really wanted that?... No, not really... I had only... well... what?

For the first time in my life, I found myself with a person in a situation... to this day I don't know how to describe it or how to explain it. Someone was there just for me for an hour. Gave me positive feedback in the sense that even criticism was packaged in such a way that it was never an attack.

In the first half year there were two more moments when I felt so bad that I had suicidal thoughts. The very first time, I managed intuitively to tell myself: 'I'll make it until the next session in a few days!' My therapist found that really great, that was one of the few moments where she was really human, where I could really see and feel the person behind. Also that I told her immediately. After the second moment, I no longer had such thoughts, and I haven't had them in that form since.

This aspect was certainly something very pleasant, but in the end the therapy did not bring much. For one thing, because simply talking can provide information… and thus insight, but that's not always enough. Although she was (and still is) a trauma therapist, we hardly did any real trauma work. After a year and a half, she initiated the end and spoke of “all possible therapy provided” (or “untreatable”, through with therapy and treatment).

"But this sadness," she then began before parting, and she spoke softly and questioningly.

"This sadness in you!"

I nodded, and my eyes grew moist.

"What is this? Where does this come from? We couldn't get there…”

I shook my head.

And so we parted on mutual agreement. I now understood many connections better, but I still had the same toxic behaviors as before, and the depressions had not really gone away. The stomach cramps had become less and less frequent, that yes... but otherwise... I noticed little difference between "before" and "after".

From today's perspective, I can only say: of course not. The real issue of who I really am - we didn't get to that. The only concrete trauma we had worked with to some extent was the fact that my father was an alcoholic. But so many other things were buried so deep inside me that it took 20 more years, until now, for them to come to light, and autism is just one of them. Some of the things I'm writing about here are also part of that.