This is the card I sewed my therapist about two years ago. She got it framed and put it in her office. She has now callously discarded me, telling me I’m too “unstable” to work with, but I doubt she’ll take this down or return it to me. She will keep it up as she has no remorse. She may even keep it up as a trophy. I similarly spent six months working on a painting I gave to another therapist who did the same to me. I lose a little piece of myself each time. Continue reading “Thoughts on loss, life, and asexuality”
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