When I try to determine what exactly you know of me, I draw a blank. I can’t be sure. Once, I thought you knew and intrinsically understood everything about me, that you had preemptive powers to discern my every need before I could even begin to identify them myself. I was wrong, of course. But you know about the way I think. You know that emotion comes at me thick and fast. You know that I’ve been burned. You know that I don’t love myself and that it leads to others taking what shouldn’t be given away. And yet, you only know what I’ve told you. This is where we differ, you and I. You have told me exactly nothing about yourself, and yet I know – dare I say – everything. Even things you yourself don’t know.

Let me explain. Beginnings.

It all started very innocently, and entirely by chance. I’d been coming to see you for a few months by then, so it must have been around Easter time. I was settling into therapy and found that it had become a lifeline. The sessions made me ask myself questions I wouldn’t otherwise have raised. My awareness increased. What was my response in a given situation, and why? Could it be different in the future? It was exhilarating to realize that I may have a choice in the matter. But most of all, the thing that brought real change was the bond built between you and me. I trusted you. You showed me what I could do in a million little ways. You were never late, never distracted, always focused on whatever I brought to the room and for the first time, it made me feel like I actually mattered, that my feelings should be listened to and valued. By pretending you cared (and it is pretending) you made me care.

Back to that Easter. It was a beautiful Friday and we had a good session. I remember it clearly – I asked you lots of questions about yourself, which you gently deflected. I wanted to know about you because as the sessions increasingly began to have an effect on me, I felt intensely attached to you. I still do. Those feelings have played along the whole spectrum of human emotion, from neediness to admiration to attraction to love to dislike and even hatred.

To obsession.

After our session that day, I felt strangely liquid inside, like you’d torched me with your careful questions, setting fire to the long-held beliefs about myself that no longer served me. Leah, could it be that you deserve your own kindness? That sounds like a very distressing experience, Leah. Even if he said you deserved it and you believed him in that moment, does it mean it was actually true? Could it be that you deserve to be loved?