Therapy with myself

Sitting somewhere cozy. Leaning against someone with eyes closed and hands on my shoulders.

Me: It is hard for me to say what I want.

Them: What do you mean?

Me: Laughs Exactly! It is difficult for me to spit out the words and tell someone what I want from them, what I want done to me, what I really need and crave.

Fingers move from shoulders to scalp, massaging.

Them: Why?

Me: Because there is a battle raging inside me where my good upper middle class educated self belittles the devilish lustful slutty little imp self. And I turn out anxious and neurotic.

Them: You aren't neurotic.

Me: Snorts. Clearly you don't know me very well. I build things up then I look like a fool even if only inside my head.

Them: Sounds like a tough audience in there.

Me: Yeah well, they know the script all too well and enjoy mucking about with it.

Them: Is this part of your compliment issue too?

Me: Yeah, I don't believe good things about myself. Laughs. I don't know why half the people who are friends with me are friends with me. Actually, no. I do know. It is cause we are all misfits and we have banded together to survive in a world of non-misfits. They know me, they know my quirks and my my anxieties? But new people, no I have new clue why new people think I am the way they think I am.

Hands leave hair and wrap around my waist, pulling me back.

Them: And how do you think they see you?

Settles into lap further, sighs.

Me: Cute, competent, witty, funny, brave. That is why I am giving it the summer then I will concede defeat and go on to live my life alone.

Them: A forever-aloner?

Me: Sure why not? It is as good an option as any.

Them: You sound so glib about it.

Me: Better glib than depressed and sobbing. Oh strong, I am also supposedly strong.

Them: so what do you need from me? What do you need from this? Gestures to setting

Me: I need, I need, to stop thinking, to be beaten to the point of tears. Beaten with love I guess. I need to be told that it is all fine and I am all fine and that all those things are true about me. But I need to be forced to believe them. I need to be coddled and cuddled and kept warm and drifty. That is what I need.

Them: Then that is what I will provide. It won't be easy and it may not be pleasant, but I can try to give you what you need.

Me: And all I can do is try to accept it.

Them: You will accept it, because I will tell you to do so, and you will leave here happier and freer and with some lovely souvenir bruises.