Yesterday I had therapy. I have been up to my eyeballs in work, and I am beyond tired, so my defenses were down. I guess thats a good thing, but it sure doesn't feel good.

T said that next week would be our last before his vacation. I said that I knew he would say that and I really didn't want to hear it.

He said something about breaks in therapy being opportunities for us to heal. I

I talked about missing my mother when I was a little girl. I used to go to the bus stop and wait for her to get home; sometimes she was on the bus and sometimes she wasn't. I was always alone.

I cried, for the second week in a row. Wow, setting records here. I told him that he needed a pink bathrobe (my dream from a few weeks ago). He smiled.

When I left, I panicked and I called him on the way home and asked if he could call me and clarify a point in our discussion. He didn't call last night. I waited and waited just like I did when I was a little girl, but he wasn't on the bus.

By this morning I was in a complete panic. I called on my way to school and left a message that i thought he had disappeared. He left me a message when I was at school and we finally connected this afternoon. He asked why I didn't call again last night if I needed him. He apologized for dropping the ball, said he had been at the airport picking up his daughter and her plane was 3 hours late.

I told him that all I could remember about yesterday's conversation was "blah, blah blah constancy." (I had rememberd this from a prior thread and it was so appropriate.) He laughed. Then we had a thoughtful conversation but I almost started crying again. He explained a lot and I told him my intellectual self and my child self were inongruent. He said I would be surprised at how much they really fit together. I was so neurotic and asked if I call too much. He said no. I feel so sad. Therapy is so hard. I love him so much.