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.
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