OK, we are high, that is a consideration. We just fucking cyber stalked our therapist, but we didn't mean to. We were trying to find his email to email him this stuff, and then well, internet addiction type of click, click, click, oh, he's been quoted on ABC! Fuck. He's a good guy. I think. I don't want to get a crush on him. But I have a therapist crush on him, because fuck, how else does this shit work. Fuck I wish I had more time with him. Maybe he'll take me on as a private client when the summers over. But, wow, he's a keeper. He knows what he's doing and he cares and he is intuitive and honest.
And I am soooooooooooo afraid of falling in love or whatever that state is with him, because when you are that open and honest with someone it's like its a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens. You just fall for them. And I know that it is not the right course and that it is not useful and that it is part of the therapy and all of that, and IT STILL FUCKING HAPPENS. aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh. And I think if I had more time with him, I could work on it. But we don't. Because I know he could handle me having a love feeling for him.
when you are that open and honest with someone it's a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens. you just fall for them. but it is OK. this is part of the healing. having him take my red wet bleeding heart and hold it and hold it and hold it and hold it. and hold. and hold. so i can look at it, i can see it is OK, it is not gangrenous, it is not communicable, it is not green with pus, it is not going to infect anyone. it is not going to infect him. it is not going to infect me. it is going to heal me. and it is strong, but it will not kill me. it will not kill him. he will not blow up. he can take my strong wet heart and hold it so i can look at it. so i can study it. so i can learn to love it. and he is strong so he holds it. and it drips blood down his hands. but he has studied, he has friends, he has a therapist, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary. he knows it is not his blood. he knows he can wash it off. he knows he is helping to heal, not having a love affair, so he holds my heart. and i look at it. i study it. and i see its strength. and i am so scared of it. soo sooo sooooo scared of it. ......................................................
.......................... so i keep trying to give it to him. to put in his chest. but he explains that he won't take it because he can't take it. it is not his to take. it is mine. it is in his hands right now but it is mine to take back.
so i think. and i watch the bleed on his skin. and i watch him. i watch him, i watch him. i watch him. i wait for his grimace. his disgust. the briefest flutter of an eyelid, the smallest unconscious curl of a lip. and it doesn't come. he is calm. he has studied, he has friends, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary, he has the strength. he holds my bleeding heart. it drips my blood down his hands. he is calm. he is kind. he even smiles once, with my blood pooling on the floor, he still sees the point of living. he shows me i can feel. because he is feeling. so i watch him. i watch him. i watch him.
and one day, i take my heart in my hands. i watch him. how do i do this? i watched him, so i know. i am calm. i let it bleed on my hands. i feel. i let the blood pool on the floor. the pain will not kill me. it did not kill me the first time, i lived then. i made it then. i can make it now. oh, the pain. pain. pain. but i am calm. i feel it. i cry. i cry. i cry. i cry. i cry. then i am quiet. then i laugh. then i smile at him. he smiles at me. i made it. i still want to give my heart to him but i keep it. it is mine to keep.
And I take it in. I take me in. I take my strong red wet beating heart back and put it in my chest. And I smile. I say "We made it." He says, "I think we did." And I shake his bloody hand with my bloody hand. And we stand and we look at each other and we smile with our hearts in our chest.
And I am soooooooooooo afraid of falling in love or whatever that state is with him, because when you are that open and honest with someone it's like its a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens. You just fall for them. And I know that it is not the right course and that it is not useful and that it is part of the therapy and all of that, and IT STILL FUCKING HAPPENS. aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh. And I think if I had more time with him, I could work on it. But we don't. Because I know he could handle me having a love feeling for him.
when you are that open and honest with someone it's a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens. you just fall for them. but it is OK. this is part of the healing. having him take my red wet bleeding heart and hold it and hold it and hold it and hold it. and hold. and hold. so i can look at it, i can see it is OK, it is not gangrenous, it is not communicable, it is not green with pus, it is not going to infect anyone. it is not going to infect him. it is not going to infect me. it is going to heal me. and it is strong, but it will not kill me. it will not kill him. he will not blow up. he can take my strong wet heart and hold it so i can look at it. so i can study it. so i can learn to love it. and he is strong so he holds it. and it drips blood down his hands. but he has studied, he has friends, he has a therapist, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary. he knows it is not his blood. he knows he can wash it off. he knows he is helping to heal, not having a love affair, so he holds my heart. and i look at it. i study it. and i see its strength. and i am so scared of it. soo sooo sooooo scared of it. ......................................................
.......................... so i keep trying to give it to him. to put in his chest. but he explains that he won't take it because he can't take it. it is not his to take. it is mine. it is in his hands right now but it is mine to take back.
so i think. and i watch the bleed on his skin. and i watch him. i watch him, i watch him. i watch him. i wait for his grimace. his disgust. the briefest flutter of an eyelid, the smallest unconscious curl of a lip. and it doesn't come. he is calm. he has studied, he has friends, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary, he has the strength. he holds my bleeding heart. it drips my blood down his hands. he is calm. he is kind. he even smiles once, with my blood pooling on the floor, he still sees the point of living. he shows me i can feel. because he is feeling. so i watch him. i watch him. i watch him.
and one day, i take my heart in my hands. i watch him. how do i do this? i watched him, so i know. i am calm. i let it bleed on my hands. i feel. i let the blood pool on the floor. the pain will not kill me. it did not kill me the first time, i lived then. i made it then. i can make it now. oh, the pain. pain. pain. but i am calm. i feel it. i cry. i cry. i cry. i cry. i cry. then i am quiet. then i laugh. then i smile at him. he smiles at me. i made it. i still want to give my heart to him but i keep it. it is mine to keep.
And I take it in. I take me in. I take my strong red wet beating heart back and put it in my chest. And I smile. I say "We made it." He says, "I think we did." And I shake his bloody hand with my bloody hand. And we stand and we look at each other and we smile with our hearts in our chest.
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