When I am the last person to get picked up in the waiting room, I know you hate me. When you can't remember details about my life, I know you resent every minute with me. I don't believe you when you say you are invested in our work together. I don't believe you when you say you aren't angry with me, that you don't have a reason to be. I am so, so stupid.

I am so terrified by your non-response to my email today (the first email I have sent you in nine months, one of three I have ever sent you; I hate that I have no idea what you are thinking, if you are mad at me...I think you must be mad at me):

Athena,I think it is best that we talk about this in person, but I did want you to know that I have read your email carefully and look forward to talking more about it when we meet next week.

There is just a black hole inside me. I am just so ****ed up that I will never be fixable. I keep fantasizing about going back to Madagascar, thinking about where I can go to escape from me but there is nowhere that's possible. I can feel free for a month or two in a new place and then all the same ******** catches up with me. I can never believe that anyone cares about me, that I am good enough at doing anything that I should keep doing it, that I am OK and that it is enough.

Why did you ask me if I thought therapy was helping? Whenever you ask me that, I think you are trying to think of a reason to kick me out. That you think therapy is not helping me because I am just a waste of space. You want me to go away.