T, I'm scared. In fact, you scare me, somehow. I thought I've heard it all, seen it all as far as therapy is concerned. And I thought, I've got my sh.*t together by now, more or less. And that this is just for some months, maybe a year, for the finishing touches, for some lose ends to be tied together. And then I can move on and live happily ever after.

And now, after six months of seeing you, the realiziation dawns on me that all those years of therapy have barely scratched the surface. That the journey hasn't even begun yet and might be far more adventurous than I imagined in my wildest dreams. And I'm scared because you don't seem to realize how scared I really am, that I am holding on for dear life on this ride, while you seem to be enjoying the speed and the turns and corners and twists.

You just come along and, with a simple question or two, cut right down to the bone. This hurts and stings and I just want to run. But I have nowhere to run to, and I know that I have to get through this stuff in order to find some relief. The other option would be to entangle you in my subconscious 'games' of guilt and fear and self-loathing. Which worked pretty well with Ex-T. But contributed to the big rupture which ended in desaster. So maybe it is good that you call me out on those games. But still: This hurts like h.*ll. And please: Be careful, and slow down.