Things Not Taught to a Psychology Student or MFT by Rebecca Donaldson

I wish you could see what happened to me
They are things often not taught to a psychology student or MFT

My mother became a drug addict when I was three
And my father only did things for a fee

My mother wasn’t born this way
She used to sing and dance all day

Somewhere though, she fell into a hole
I think on that day she lost her soul

I really wanted a mom and still do
Even better, if I could, I’d take two

I want one of those that plays with me like Ms. Honey
Who dances, laughs, and thinks that I am funny

I’d buy one if I could—a mother I’d call mommy
I’d live with her in New York City and eat pizza or pastrami

We would dance, play sports, and talk about my dreams
We’d be close and make the best mother-daughter pair of all the teams

Things weren’t good when I was a kid
I don’t remember much of what I did

I was scared often of what dad would do to us
That I’d hide in my room when he’d start to cuss

I learned how not to ask him for much
And to run when I heard his fist make a bang and such

I left one night at twenty-one
That was the night I ran away and said that I am done

I don’t know what it’s like to be cherished by a mom or dad
I don’t know it much at all, but it sounds quite rad

I wish mental health professionals knew what to do with adults like me
But I’ve never much felt like any of them could really see

They gave me some label called ‘BPD’
And instead, they said that the problem is me

I don’t understand this because all I do is cry
They look at me though like what I say is a lie

I finally got a new therapist who says she believes me
She sits presently and never uses the term, ‘BPD’

She smiles at me with warm brown eyes
And when I talk about what a therapist did to me, she sighs

She’s a feminist just like me
I think it’s why she finally can see

It’s because of her that I am unthawing and still here
And that I recently stopped walking around with so much sadness and fear

All I needed was someone to say what happened to me wasn’t okay
Just by my therapist doing this, I have started to find my way


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Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.


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