A lingering fantasy

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I excuse myself and leave my friends at the table. I have a rendez-vous. Every week, while walking on this route, I get lost in my thoughts. I feel that I am being transported to another dimension and becoming more and more invisible. I ring the bell and enter her room, or her cabinet if you wish. I don’t know how to call it. I sit at my usual place, and as every week, I feel stupid for the first twenty seconds. What am I doing here? is the question I ask myself while catching my breath and watching the paintings on the walls. Nothing has changed much since last time.

She sits in front of me, her hands in her lap, and smiles at me. She has a white paper in front of her to take notes. She takes notes only when I say certain things. I wonder how she decides what is worth being analyzed further and what not. I imagine myself in a Robin Williams movie. I don’t know whether I am Robin Williams or she is.

As every week, I don’t know where to start and what to say. Maybe I should tell her about my vacation? I usually speak about my work because that is the easiest subject to attack. My work, which seems to be the problematic issue and the source of my stress, is nothing but a symptom of deeper issues. I know it and she knows it, but at the same time I need to gain trust in her to talk about the hurtful things. It is quite hard to deliver yourself to a stranger and let emotions take over.

Since few times she has tried to scrap the surface of my “personal life” story. At times I have completely changed the subject and at times I have given her vague, brief answers. When that happens she ends the session and says: “We’re done”.

Today, suddenly in the middle of a discussion about my parents, I hear a voice in me who tells me: “You are ready. Go!”. At this moment I first confess to her that I am aware that I am deliberately restraining myself from talking about certain issues, but I would like to try. She smiles and says: “I am listening”, with an expression on her face that shows how satisfies she is. I am finally on the right path.

I sit back and take a deep breath. I talk and I talk. Sometimes my voice trembles and sometimes I feel that I repeat myself. While I tell her things that are of utmost importance to me, I wonder why should this poor woman listen to this? I tell her that one day, once I am done with my lone vagabond life, I would like to settle and share my laughter and sadness with another. I tell her about my blockage into a long lasting love story that prevents me from looking around. The hardest part for me is to admit that I still think about him all the time, every day. Once I spit these words out, and I see that she doesn’t raise her eyebrows, nor does she tell me: “Oh no! Still? You should move on dear”, I feel relieved. She nods, as if it is the most normal thing in the world to think about a man with whom you have had no contact for the past two years.


After this moment I realize that I can now really start my therapy after several months.