Therapist,

I called you the short-hand of your name. When I entered the office, you'd tell your colleague, "It's just Calilady" meaning that you could be yourselves around me. No pretenses or masks and you showed me a bit of yourself. I'm grieving the loss of you now. Short spurts of crying that come in erratic waves, with no warning at all. Truth is I miss the old you. I don't recognize the woman you are now. You've lost weight and are in fabulous shape, but the short dresses and you constantly pulling them down so I couldn't see was a bit distracting.

I want us to go back to the woman who didn't wear cocktail dresses to our appointments and moved her office on the Rodeo Drive version of our area. The new office didn't feel like home or "your throne" as you called it. Soon, you'll be getting a payment from me, but this time, in the mail. I'll have to make it clear that this isn't a test and you don't need t contact me to invite me back to another session.

Remember when I told you that I was convinced I was straight and I'd never leave my husband? You asked me what I wanted help with, to accept my feelings for women or put them away. At the time, I wanted to put them away, but I saw the look of sadness on ur face when I said it. When I transitioned from straight to bisexual to gay, you never judged me. You listened t my stories and they never shocked u.

How did we end up here? How did it go so downhill in months? I saw another therapist. The appointment slid into my lap when I forget to cancel and then you cancelled out appointment less than 24 hours away from it.

It's like I don't recognize you anymore.