We talked about the impossible depth and breadth of my emotions about being diagnosed with a heart condition and told I will at some point need surgery for it. After around seven years of suffering with symptoms and being ignored, dismissed, belittled and even laughed at by medical professionals.

T seems to think he can provide a space for me where I can safely express those feelings, blah de blah etc etc. I don't think he understands. The anger and sadness and fear are bottomless and unbearable. What the f*** does he want me to do with them? And where am I supposed to put them when my fifty minutes is up? Neatly pack them back up in the box they came from and put them on the shelf for next time?

He is trying. I don't know what I expect him to do.