I spent the previous two days on the phone with T in a pretty manic state-- not focusing or hearing anything he was saying, getting stuck on words, phrases, rhymes, etc. It has been an exhausting time for me, as I am cycling moods faster than you can imagine. It is scary. Yesterday while on the phone with T I told him I didn't want to come today. I told him to put someone else in my place. At the end of the conversation he said, "So... what do you want me to do? What should put in my appointment book?" I told him of course I was coming, and to highlight my name in pink.

When I came into the roomt this morning, there was a paper on my chair with my name written in pink marker, as well as the date. On the bottom he wrote, "So.... what's been going on?" It was hilarious. I always bother him because he begins each session with that question and I told him I'm getting sick of it and not to say it anymore.

On the other chair was paper, markers, and colored pencils for me in case I wanted to use them because when I wrote his "evaluation" I mentioned how much it meant to me to be able to do art in his office.

He brought in a book of the artist, Francis Bacon. He marked off all of the paintings that he thought would mean something to me. We looked at the book together.

I never cried so hard in front of him before. He pulled his chair really close to mine and took my hand. He held my hand with both of his. He looked at the scars and cuts on my arms and put his hand over them. Tears ran down my cheeks as I told him, "You are the first person to ever not be afraid to touch me where I hurt myself." He told me, "I am not afraid." He sat holding my hand for around ten minutes as I cried over what I have done to my body, the fear of more mood swings and manic periods, the exhaustion of experiencing it while not being able to face any more of it, the need for my mother-- or a mother, and all the fear and little girl feelings that lie under the constant anger. He told me things like he wasn't going anywhere and he was accepting all parts of me. He felt every bit of pain along with me. He told me to squeeze his hand when things felt unreal and scary.

He came out to my car before I left and reminded me of a couple things he would like me to do. He told me to take care of myself until Tuesday, the next time I see him.

One thing I do remember on the phone is that I asked him at one point why he sounded sad. He said, "I guess it is because I do wish that I could just say something or do something that would magically take away all this pain for you."