therapy saturday.
weird scheduling thing. dr R had to reschedule wednesday’s session to today.
I don’t usually go on saturdays.
the office #
her office is always perfectly arranged.
warm lighting. two chairs. that fucking couch I always end up on.
she was wearing this dark purple dress today. professional but… yeah.
I noticed.
always notice.
the check-in #
“how was the new year?”
“rough. but okay.”
she nodded. took notes.
“you mentioned december would be difficult. the anniversary.”
three years. december 31st, 2022.
“yeah.”
long pause.
“how did you handle it this time?”
the truth #
I told her.
A.’s family was in town. big dinner christmas eve. new year’s eve was quieter.
just me and A. stayed home. opened champagne at midnight.
I thought about mom and dad at 11:58.
“what happened at 11:58?”
“just… zoned out. A. was counting down. I was somewhere else.”
dr R leaned forward. “where were you?”
“in the car. not their car. just… imagining it.”
pause.
“that’s new. you haven’t described that imagery before.”
unpacking it #
we spent 30 minutes on that.
the crash. the call from the hospital. the funeral.
three years and I still have moments where it feels like yesterday.
dr R says that’s normal.
“grief has no timeline. it revisits.”
the good parts #
I told her about A.
how she held me at midnight. didn’t say anything. just held me.
how she understands when I need space.
“your communication with A. seems strong.”
“it is.”
“sexually too?”
here we go.
I told her we had slow, intentional sex that night. new year’s eve.
nothing kinky. just… connected.
“describe it.”
I watched her write notes while I talked.
she always asks for details about our sex life.
A. and I both think she gets off on it.
maybe. maybe not.
today I didn’t care.
the session end #
50 minutes goes fast.
“same time wednesday?”
“yeah.”
I walked out feeling lighter.
that’s the weird thing about therapy. I go in carrying something. leave without it.
not fixed. just… acknowledged.
A. asked #
got home around 11:30.
A. was working at her desk.
“how was dr R?”
“good. talked about new year’s eve.”
she nodded. “you seemed off that night.”
“I know.”
“you’re allowed to be off.”
I kissed her forehead.
“I know.”
tonight #
2:30am saturday.
A. is asleep. dinner was hours ago.
sitting here in the dark with my laptop.
therapy days always feel different.
emptier in a good way.
like I cleaned out a drawer I’d been avoiding.
2:30am saturday. therapy with dr R earlier today. talked about new year’s eve, the anniversary, zoning out at 11:58. three years since the crash. A. held me at midnight. told dr R about our sex life - she always asks for details. left feeling lighter. therapy days feel different. emptier in a good way.
-AK