Had one of my most challenging session with Susie to date. Involved crying silent tears of molten rock and scratching my legs like skates on an ice rink, while Susie drew maps of my thought processes (is my belief that I won't get better inhibiting my ability to do so? - the thought that I'm the cause of this immense distress is so painful; I fear I will implode). Susie was crying too, she kept saying I want to save you, I want to rescue you, but what then? I didn't tell her the things I promised I would...that Monday saw a renewed desire for drug research and August became almost completely incomprehensible. Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear.
There is a weird kind of symmetry in the fact that the Poet has commitment issues and I have living issues. Like we're both simultaneously breaking apart, unsure how much we can stand to hold on. I don't know what role I want him to play in my life; definitely not the protector or the counsellor. But at the same time, I need him more than this. When I asked him what "we" were (if there is such thing as we), he laughed. Most definitely, we're partners. I said nothing; because the way he looked at my band-aids like he caused them (scars shaped like names, scars shaped like names), midnight trips to the bathroom and comfortable breakfast making felt all too familiar (do not you fucking dare break my heart).