When I was at the height of my transference issues, I did the same thing. Cept it wasn't him I went looking for information on, or photos, or the likes, it was his wife, who is also a psychotherapist. This has to be the moment when I decided my transference was interfering so deeply in my life, that I just...shut it down. And btw...you CAN shut it down. You have to remember something. Your T? Not real. That's right. That person, who seems so devoted to you for 50 minutes, is not real. Anyway, I came across my T's wife's Flickr page, loaded up with photos, which for some reason stop at 2009, but there they were, vacation photos, photos of this woman doing yoga, and it was then that I realized, as sexy and gorgeous and hot as my T is? He's NOT the man I think he is when I'm sitting there in the office for 50 minutes with him, and if he IS flirting with me? I think I might know why. Firstly, I think he's just...naturally a flirt, but, I have to be the polar opposite of his wife. I mean I have to be almost ****ing perpendicular to her. The only thing we have in common is that we have boobies and a hoo hah and we breathe oxygen. Well that, and she dyed her hair red, and I'm a redhead. She is flat chested, very athletic body, she is a triathlete, no curves, very natural, very outdoorsy, artsy craftsy, and frankly? Very plain. This is a no makeup, not into clothes girl. She reminds me of the salutatorian from my high school, they have a very similar look, and much like my salutatorian, who ran track, and was really into athletics (and of course was so brilliant she wound up graduating summa cum laude from Georgetown, did her Masters at Yale and then a PhD overseas, and now works as a translator for the UN!!!!), it's clear that this is a girl who focused on brain and healthy body. Me? I'm all curves, very big boobs, there's muscle tone in my abs, and now my arms, but I've got a big round booty, my idea of arts and crafts usually involves modifying my jeans in some way, like patch-working them, studding them, tearing them, I'd die if I attempted a triathlon. We...are on other sides of the world. She's about healthy living, and I'm only starting to get healthy with a love of vice that pretty much wears on my sleeve. She's all bout plain jane. I'm all bout grungy glam rock peacock. She wears ugly shoes, horrible sexless clothes, that don't really show off her extremely fit physique. I wear tight jeans, perennial kickers. Her hair is very short. My hair is long and shaggy with heavy bangs that go over my eyebrows. We...are nothing alike. He seems into her, and therefore, I am the OPPOSITE of what he goes for.

And there he was, my T, my gorgeous sexy T, in clothes that made me do a double take. He lives in a B's cap. Not exactly sartorial. In other words? I think they're meant to be together, and seemed happy, well at least until 2009 when the pictures ended.

But here's what happened. Once I realized what I was doing, I got mad. At MYSELF. I felt like a stupid, infantile, jealous, insane person. I felt like I was becoming unhinged. And once I realized that my T, as gorgeous and ****able (and I'd still, if I could transplant us into an alternate reality would like to do absolutely filthy things to him), as he is, is in fact NOT this "punk rock alterna-boy" that I thought he was, it changed me. Moreover, I was so turned off by myself, that I just STOPPED. I just STOPPED.

I return to Therapy next Thursday. If you recall my last session was the one where all the good things happened to me, and he stopped being nice, or even remotely friendly. Decided to take a week off from therapy. I'm coming back on Thurs, after my weekend in NYC to celebrate my birthday, and I have a LOT to celebrate.

It's important to remember, that our therapists aren't real. They are real people. They have real lives. But you? You're not a part of that life, nor they are a part of yours, nor should they be.