I wrote my former T an email. I know I know. Why do I do this to myself?! I'll stress out that she won't respond and I'll feel like crap. I wrote it like it was a session. So I'm going to put it in this section...

Dear _____ (Former T),

(I'm picturing you sitting across from me.)


Me: Hi. (Small Silence. Probably a little stillness too. Or me pushing the ends of my fingertips together.)

Me: How are you? How have you been feeling? Is the MS better, worse, or the same? (Waits for you to respond.)


Me: I'm okay. Well somewhere between okay and unwell. (Picturing you asking me what does that mean?)


Me: I know, I know. It's hard to explain. I mean I'm not actively suicidal which would signal unwell, but I'm sort of passively suicidal which would indicate a level of unwell, but I'm (mostly) keeping it under control. Today, for once, I don't feel as tired as usual. Today, for once, I don't feel as depressed as usual. I think because I had a good night's sleep. I had fun playing a board game last night. I don't know. I'm somewhere between okay and unwell. I can't say I'm totally okay because I've been looking at straight razor blades online on Amazon. I know if I get one it has the potential to do some damage to myself. That's why I'm not totally okay. The self harm is, well, okay I guess. I think I've had one incident since I last wrote you. But there is a desire in me to do some damage to myself and that's not okay. (Uncomfortable silence. Maybe a squirm.) I mean, I haven't bought anything like that from Amazon. I just know it's there and I could get it in two days--thanks Prime! (Smile).


Me: So, am I going to get it? I don't know. I haven't yet. But the yet makes it feel sort of inevitable. And if I did get it, I don't know. It might cause more damage than I've done before. Maybe need to get stitches. Something like that.


Me: So what would it mean to get it? I don't know. I guess it would me that it's okay to hurt myself in a damaging way. And what would I get out of hurting myself like that? I mean, there has to be a payoff right? Well if I hurt myself bad enough, it would be a way of saying, you know, I'm not okay. (Picturing you saying: So maybe there's a better way of getting that need met?)

Me: (Silence. Looking around a little.) Yeah, I just don't know what that is.


You: (But you're using words. That's good. That's progress.)


Me: (A little defeated.) Yeah. I know. I guess it's just...I don't know. I'm tired of feeling depressed. Of feeling this way. Of having this hurt inside that's trying to get out through my skin.


Me: (More silence. Getting a little dissociated. The grey and black sort of pushes in from the edges of my eyes and my vision narrows.)


Me: (Feeling what it is like to sit in the chair. Me noticing my feet on the floor. How that feels. It's hard. I'm supported. Breathing in. Breathing out. Okay. I can feel myself breathing. I must be okay. It's okay to continue.)

You: (Where were you?)

Me: I don't know. In my head I guess. I just sort of went away for a minute.


You: (Okay.)

Me: (Feeling like it's okay to continue.) Switching topics. I really miss you. I miss having you in my life to help me, and to discuss these things with, and to feel like you are on my side. Certain things remind me of you. Like recently on an online forum we were talking about whether or not we felt like the therapy office was a safe space. I remember you telling me it was. And me not really knowing what that meant. I just didn't have that frame of reference. But it reminded me of you just the same.


Me: (Looking down.) I wrote you a letter, last month, because I didn't want to email you again in the month--I'm trying to just write you once a month. I wrote the letter in Latin so that there would be no way I would send it. I know you don't like me writing you in Latin. (Me smiling, looking up at you.) It made me have to think hard about what I wanted to say, and how to say it. Besides telling you how much I missed you and how I hoped you were well, one thing I wrote was "Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit" which means "and perhaps one day it will help to remember these things." And I think it does. It helps me to remember you. To remember what you might have replied to me. It helps me to remember your care for me.


Me: (Silent for a bit.) But it's getting hard. I'm doubting myself some. Like maybe I'm not real to you anymore.


You: (What would that mean to you?)

Me: I guess it would mean that you've forgotten me a little. And I'm worried that I'll lose your care. I've already lost you. I don't want to lose your care. I remember you telling me you are on my team. I can remember feeling your care for me. It was warm, and it made me feel okay for a little while. Maybe that's what you meant by this being a safe place. But it's hard for me to bring back up that feeling that it's okay for a little while. I used to get that for an hour a week with you. Now it's just, well, gone.


Me: But I do remember your voice telling me that you hoped I wouldn't commit suicide. When I feel that way, I remember that. And I remember you.


Me: There's so much more I could tell you about. Like how my boss is about to have knee surgery and so I'll be taking over doing her duties at work, as much as my own, and how I am a little worried about it. Like it's a trial run for if/when she retires. And telling you about my kitty Amelia. And my family coming for a visit last month. And about therapy. And just so much more...


Me: (Sadly.) But I can't really tell you all of these things. So I concentrated on what I think is the important stuff. You're the one person in the world that understands me. Others are trying to understand me. But they aren't there yet. You're the only one who understands me.


You: (I'm still there. I still care.)


Me: I know that. I just really wish I could still feel that for an hour a week. But I have to be strong. I have to remember. I have to carry on--for you--until I can carry on for myself.


Me: Thanks for listening to me. I hope you have a really good rest of the day.


Me: Take Care.

Me: (I love you.)

From Kit (except of course I said my real name)