A bit ago I heard a sound I haven’t heard in quite some time: my phone rang. But the real surprise was that it wasn’t a telemarketer. Not only that, it was my therapist. She never calls me. Never.
Actually, she was the person I needed to talk to.
I told her lots of things. This would include my immediate difficulty trying to take a shower because first of all, I hate my body and I can’t stand looking at it or touching it right now and I have bad feelings about my weight and shape. Secondly, I do not want to die in the nude and have been afraid to spend any time naked whatsoever for fear that I will be “caught” in the nude and frozen in my death without clothes on. For months, I have made two exceptions: shower, and weighing myself.
I told her a few other things besides that. Just some stuff going on over the past weeks, months that I never told her, maybe no one ever found out the whole story, maybe I’m finally telling it now. Secrets.
She asked me if I was going to show up at my PCP appointment tomorrow. I told her I was planning to cancel. She told me I’d better show up. So I will.