Once in a while I get that horrendously humiliating inner shift of allegiance to the therapist, like that little voice from childhood that latches onto some port-person in a storm and says 'This person is good. This place is safe. I am okay here.' I promptly distance myself from this by criticizing or insulting the therapist, then feel guilty and have to apologize.
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"Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of their marvels." - Francisco de Goya
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