I turned my poetry manuscript over to T. I don't know what came over me. I brought it to the session, but with no intention to read him any of the poems. In my two years with him, I have read him, maybe, three poems at the most. And these were relatively "safe" poems. He is constantly urging me read my poetry, and I am constantly resisting. My writing is the most raw form of myself. There is no censorship. Once he reads my work, he will there's not much he won't know about me.

So at the very end of the session he asks me, "So, are you gonna come back next week?" (He always asks that). I said yes, and then I took out the manuscript (it's about 17 poems 15 poems or so that I am editing to send off to some publishers), and I hand it to him. He asks, "What would you like me to do with this?" So of course I say, "Burn them." So he asks again: "What would you like me to do with this?" And I told him... "I want you to read it this week. Can I do that? Give you homework?" So he took the manuscript, said that he would read it, and asked, "Now are you sure you are going to come back next week?" So I told him I would, but most likely I'd be wearing a paper bag over my head. He said, "I would still recognize you."

So then I leave the room, and I'm walking down the stairs, and all of a sudden it hit me-- this chill went through my body... you know, the kind you would get if you were walking down the street and spotted a pit bull or something.. and I was like... what the %#@&#! did I just do?? And I seriously contemplated running back upstairs, tackling him, ripping away the manuscript, and just getting the hell out of there.

There is so much about him in my poetry. So much about the relationship. I mean, the way I write can be very mysterious to anyone but me... So my only hope is that he won't notice that any of it is based around him at all. However, there are four poems... they are entitled "Transference 1", "Transference 2" and so on. These might tip him off. Plus, the guy is an analyst and he has known me for two years. I'm sure he'll be having a %#@&#! analytical field day.

I cannot believe I did this. That's how I am though-- extreme, impulsive. If I am afraid of something, then when I decide to do it, I reeeeaaallllly do it. I felt I would much rather that he have them in his possession. Reading them aloud would be torturous.

Well, now he has to think about me out of session. Deeply. Analyze me. Through 15 poems. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

OH MY GOD. I GAVE HIM MY MANUSCRIPT. Sorry. It just hit me again.

Maybe he will forget to read it. Maybe he has already dropped it in a puddle.

When he saw that I had a folder with me, he asked for the folder so that he can keep the poems safe.

Maybe he has a dog. I hope he has a dog. The dog can eat the folder, with the poems inside.

I'm scared. I have made myself completely vulnerable to him. Exposed.