We let ourselves be swallowed up this weekend. Swallowed up by the space between sessions. The silence from them. The desperation from us.

We forget they are still there and still want us. And now, with new boundaries, we cannot confirm they are still out there–living their lives and still connected to us.

“We are out-patient therapists,” is the new phrase we have never heard in more than five years and is 100 percent accurate.

They do have lives. We will respect their boundaries.

The boundaries are new. And painful. And reminders.

Our parents loved us, too, the next day. But not at night. Or, rather, they still had invisible love inside them–we were still connected in a non-action-oriented way, much as we are still connected to the out-patient therapists between sessions–and they chose to show indifference and then, when we provoked by trying to get childhood needs met, anger.

That is a long sentence. one of the longest we have ever written. It seems like an important sentence.

Most of life seems like a vague rerun of train-wreck crime shows. We have seen them before, and we remember them differently. That actor isn’t old enough to have been in the original. Didn’t it end differently? We didn’t notice the subtext or the big picture. We couldn’t imagine the boom microphones and lights and cameras and the set. It was just a reality on the thick screen.

It was all reality TV to us.

We wrote lots of posts this weekend and posted none of them.

Do you ever do that? Flirt with Truth, vulnerability. The intersection of everything, including hyperbole, desire, vengeance.

We have gone as far from vulnerability as we could, only to circle round to it again. We met with one of the Ts today. We wanted to be vulnerable, to show up and try to do healing work. This connection felt more stable than it played out in our head all weekend–with our delusions and punishments and perpetrating and victimhood.

We had a brain quake on saturday morning. A brain quake is what is sounds like. It is probably when someone inside us wants to or has to take over and the person or people who were up-front don’t want to or are having trouble relinquishing the steering wheel. So it’s like a power struggle. A void. The in-between space. Like the space between therapy sessions. Anything could happen in this void. As the visual frame of reference spins and the nervous system electrifies.

It’s tomorrow’s session that has us spooked. That is the T we’ve been seeing for more than five years. To whom we want to be connected. Be loved by. We want that T to be our parents.

That is probably why we crossed the boundary originally. That, and the fact that money is getting in the way. Partly psychologically and, well, all psychologically.

We start seeing a new T tomorrow, too. This will make four Ts we are seeing regularly. That sounds like too many. We actually laughed.

Two Ts for DID and Trauma. One for relationships and a specific Trauma. And the new T for Somatic Experiencing.

Can’t have too many Ts according to our example, apparently.

Everyone has memories of how people were imperfect. We are so imperfect ourself, and our kids will remember our imperfections to a therapist–or four–or a spouse–or four.

It hasn’t all been Trauma and torture, right? The brain thinks it is. And now we get what we make. And it wasn’t always so thick and heavy. Maybe there feel fewer places to go now. Fewer than as a kid. That kid didn’t know. We don’t know. Does anyone know?

We will post this one. Even though it is full.

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