Dear T,

The end of a session with you feels like the jarring breaking of a spell. As if there is something magic about those chairs we sit in that makes intimacy and connection possible. It seems so human while we sit there.

Then, we get up, the spell breaks, and I can no longer give you eye contact, humiliated by what I've just revealed to a "service provider." You very pointedly do not touch me as you hand me the appointment card or as we walk to the door. You give me some impersonal send off phrase like, "Take care," which I hear as, "Good luck with that crap." And off I go trying to pretend the interaction was not bizarre.

I do not know what this is.