You are the closest person to me. You know just about everything about me.

But there are two things you don’t know about me.

You don’t know how I cry alone in the backseat of my car after our session

Listening to “When it’s Cold I’d Like To Die” by Moby until my phone dies and I can contact no one.

I’m crying so hard it is bordering on screaming, yet once again I suffer in silence, as the confines of the car trap any sound from escaping

I want to walk into the traffic and be hit by a car. Anything to make this end!

I finally make it home and crash my car into the side of the carport.

The second thing you don’t know about me is that I have the strength to leave you.

“See you next Monday” you tell me as I leave. I don’t say anything back to you.

You are a tree that lifts me as high as heaven but your roots reach down to hell.

You are not a friend. You are not a mother. You are not a partner.  And I’m not even sure whether I want you as my psychologist.

You blocked me on Facebook and changed your name to “You Can’t Find Me” because you thought that was funny.

Well I CAN find you.

And I found the true nature of our relationship alongside it.

You say it’s your policy, but you had a choice.

You always had a choice.

I need space. Even though I’m on the brink of killing myself I’m pushing every professional away. I am like my receding gum now. I cannot trust again. I have been so hurt that I’m receding and receding and I don’t know when or if I’ll stop.

fog-1209205 definitely this one