Well, stupid me, all aglow with T love, decided to process our session by reading some articles on therapy love. What did I get out of them, you ask? That whatever he feels for me (if anything) isn't real. My inner child is now telling me how gullible and naïve I am, and what a fool I'm making of myself in front of him. I can't possibly trust what he says. He doesn't go home and think about me, he's just following a therapeutic script where he says the magic words to make me open up to him.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
A couple of months ago, I wrote him a letter in which I said I wanted to love him. And now that I do feel that way, I don't want to anymore. Or maybe I do. Yes! No, I don't. Definitely don't. But it feels wonderful. It's humiliating. I'll love him until the stars crumble. Or I'll hate him tomorrow. Round and round the ballroom we go.
I could use some words of wisdom right now.