An e-mail to my therapist, saved in my drafts folder, never to be sent

As per agreement, I do not e-mail my therapist except to schedule appointments.  I wanted to send this, though, but as I was writing it, it got so complex and dark that I decided it was wisest to put it on hold.

Dear T,

I am tired of coming to therapy and I don’t know what to do.  I feel like therapy is keeping me alive and I’m not sure that I really want this anymore.  I feel grateful that you do not want to give up on me.  But I feel like you are wasting your time and energy on me.

I feel very driven right now into a dark, dark place.  I feel that I do not want to be pulled from this place.  I want to be in this place and fall deeper into it and be comforted by it.

I am comforted by loud, raucous music these days.  I listen to it to drown out the world and not hear my ugliness reflected in it.  I sneak around my building, my neighborhood, everywhere.  It has turned into a complex web of actions all built for the purpose of avoiding humans.

I feel like I am slipping away from living.  I feel resentful that I have to go to appointments and get help.  I feel like The Three Musketeers–you, Dr. P, and Dr. K–are running around my body pecking at it and trying to steal it, and I am holding onto the tiny bit of it that I have left.  The part that is left is like a piece of straw, gasping for breath.

I feel like saying goodbye, and I don’t know what to do.

I’ve decided that I am not going to send this e-mail.  Instead, I will read this to you in our session.  See you tomorrow.


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