I hate breaks. Hate them. I thrive on my routine. I miss the routine of driving to my therapist's house on the same route each Wednesday almost as much as I miss the man himself. But God do I miss him. I miss his eyes and his manner, and his unparalleled understanding of who I am.

Of course, this aching emptiness is not for him but for the long-forgotten fear and loneliness of my infancy, I'm sure. But knowing that it is transference, knowing I'm not truly longing for him, doesn't make it feel less empty and painful right here, right now.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, I just wish to express it. I don't want this thread to become a platform for any debate about whether or not therapy is useful. I most certainly find it helpful and I have grown immeasurably since I met him, so for a more general debate please start your own thread. I just want to express my sadness in this moment. My sadness that I am his job and that he is not my father, or friend or life partner, while still knowing that if he were, he would be no more special a presence in my life than those already in it. It's a weird paradox.