Dear T,

It's funny, you know. As I was hoovering today I just had a fleeting thought about our session tomorrow and I envisaged myself just sat there, chatting to you normally, telling you about my past. Able to converse and look at you. Able to open up and let things out. Just getting on with the work that we have to do.

And then I remembered.... I don't do that. I can't do that. Somewhere inside me the wiring is all shot. As much as I can see myself doing it, I can't. I just crumble into this pathetic thing who can't look at you. Can't properly talk to you. Who shuts down, gets mad and dissociates at even the slightest hint of this stuff.

Ah well, we can but try I suppose.