I saw T today for our first face to face session since her holiday. Work had been tricky today – so when I sat down on her sofa, knees up and blanket on my feet, I mostly had the overwhelming urge to fall asleep! T feels so safe, her house feels so safe and the contrast of that warmth and safety after the exposed nakedness of my day was really stark.
I told T that I didn’t know what to talk about, and so she asked me what it was like being back after a break.
It didn’t really feel any different… it felt like we’d never been away, really. That’s more proof that things are changing – I’ve melted straight back into therapy this time. Previously, it’s been much harder to regain connection after a break.
We talked about work, about general life stuff for a while. Then we started to talk about the break. I can’t remember too much of the conversation, things got a little hazy, but I remember ending up with ‘and that’s really unfair’. T asked me to tell her about the unfairness, and a torrent of words poured out my mouth. It’s unfair that she went away, it’s unfair that I had to survive the crisis without her, it’s unfair that life is this hard, it’s unfair that I’m bright and outgoing and friendly and yet none of that is enough. It’s unfair that you went to the moon and then I was alone, squeaked Little. It doesn’t matter to Little that my best friend was an absolute godsend that weekend. It doesn’t matter that the Samaritans were amazing, or that my GP and R have been fab since. To Little, T left, and she was alone. That’s what matters.
We talked a little about T telling me where she goes on holiday. She used to, and I used to really appreciate the knowledge as it places her in a space where there is still sun and stars every day and night. It was of huge comfort to Little, when T was in Oz, to know what time the sunset and what time the sun rose again. Those tiny things, like T’s email to say she was by the sea one day, connect me to her in a way that surpasses the rational ‘of course she’s still on this planet’ stuff. T stopped telling me where she was going because of the time I freaked out – but that was because of the content of her holiday, not the place. T checked in again that it would help me if she told me where she was going. I wholeheartedly agreed, and so she told me of a few days she’s going to Italy, and a ten day trip to Spain in April. That already feels more manageable, just because Little can place her in the world.
I suddenly felt very overcome, overwhelmed by the intensity of Little’s feelings and scared that the time was ticking past. I asked T to come sit with me – she asked if she could hold my feet. She did, but it wasn’t long until I swivelled round, head tucked into her shoulder, knees tucked into me, arms interlaced through Rabbit and her cardigan and heart wholly thrown into her hands for safe keeping. And that’s when the really important conversations happen – the quiet ones, the slightly silly and sometimes giggly ones, the ones where she whispers and all I can do is snuggle into her as my response.
I just want to matter, even when you go away… You always matter. You matter a hell of a lot.
Will you always come back? I will always come back. For as long as I am able, I will always come back.
Do you care? Of course I care! Why do you think I worked so hard to find Internet to reply to you? I didn’t reply to anyone else’s emails! I waited until it felt right to reply to you… so I thought about you every day. Really really…? Really really.
We spent a few minutes together, my head tucked into her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing and the slowing rate of my heart as I try to fill myself with as much of her as possible – like trying to fill a punctured bucket so full that it won’t run dry before the next session, even though it leaks. We talked a little about my birthday (which is soon), I teased her about her comment years ago that things would feel more settled by 25 – I expect everything to be perfect in a month’s time!! Do you think I’m way behind everyone else, or do you think I’m just being silly? I don’t think either of those things. I think you’re a tremendously brave young woman, facing the horrific things that happened to you with great courage. *insert squeaky noise and more snuggling here*
As we gently separated for the end of our session, she told me she wanted me to promise to eat tonight. I wouldn’t shake her hand on it – because if I break promises then I panic. I did promise I would try, and though she teasingly said that didn’t mean anything, I have tried. I’ve eaten something. I can’t do all the work myself, T said. You have to help me by doing the self care. I know she is right, but it is so hard.
I am so filled with love tonight. Sometimes it is hard to absorb her, sometimes heightened emotions or external stresses get in the way. Sometimes I lose the feelings in the drive home. Sometimes although I know we were together it feels almost like a lie a few hours later. It is so rare that I can fall asleep feeling warm, loved, held. Safe. So night, night, blog world. Sweet dreams. x