I saw E. again today, the first time I ever saw her two days in a row. She is trying, but she’s obviously shaken by my revelation. She still sat there with her arms tight across her chest for much of today’s session. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t keep looking at her like that. I moved to the floor, facing away from her.

I’m sad. I feel I’ve lost her care and respect. I feel alone. I feel unredeemable. If she can’t be open and hold my horribleness in a compassionate container, then it’s because there is no possibility of redemption.

And I’m mad! She made me think I could trust her. She told me she would feel the same about me no matter what. It wasn’t true though. That’s not what I saw her body saying.

I’m ashamed. I’m so repulsive that even a caring, competent therapist wants to retreat.

“What do you need from me?” she asked me today.

“Comfort. Reassurance.” I told her. It is very rare that I know what I need.

Maybe she thought she was offering comfort and reassurance, I don’t know. I just know that I don’t feel comforted or reassured. She tells me that doing something bad is not the same as being bad, but I think she talked too much about doing something bad, and each time it was another knife in my heart. I can feel how much she disapproves. I disapprove too, of course. But I wish she didn’t.

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