You tell me you’ve given your thirty day notice,
that you would not be a good therapist
if you did not practice what you preach,
did not identify your needs and go after them.
And now it is my turn.
Next week, I am to tell you what I want and need in a therapist
when, like Bono,
all I want is you.
I tell you it is okay.
You say you wished it felt okay.
I can not caretake you
from my own place
of fresh devastation.
It is exhausting to imagine
starting all over yet again,
letting another therapist get to know me.
Again.
The trans thing.
Again.
The self harm thing.
Again.
The everything.
Again.

It’s like trying to fall in love in five minutes.
We have speed dating.
It’s only a matter of time until someone comes up with speed therapy.
You get to interview 20 different shrinks,
they get a quick glimpse of your particular brand of crazy.
Then you both decide if any of you are a match.

I know you want to fix this before we say goodbye.
But it’s not that kind of thing.
My initial feeling is always going to be one of abandonment.
And I have to sit with that a while.
In time, peace and answers will come.
Thoughts will clear.
Words will form.
But for now I am adrift.