When a maintenance worker appeared in the window of my therapist's office, I had an immediate experience of seeing my therapy from the outside. The theater and construction of it shook me and, to this day, I can't get it out of my head. I guess that's because it exposed a painful truth. What's left is just using therapy as a sounding board to hear myself. I don't really buy into the theater of it anymore. There's a grief that comes with waking up to the reality, but maybe in the end the healthiest way for me to experience this bizarre construct is to see it from the perspective of a maintenance worker looking in the window. I don't think there's a way to buy back into the illusion unless one is on drugs (legal or non).