This is why I have a telephone

A bit ago I heard a sound I haven’t heard in quite some time: my phone rang.  But the real surprise was that it wasn’t a telemarketer.  Not only that, it was my therapist.  She never calls me.  Never.

Actually, she was the person I needed to talk to.

I told her lots of things.  This would include my immediate difficulty trying to take a shower because first of all, I hate my body and I can’t stand looking at it or touching it right now and I have bad feelings about my weight and shape.  Secondly, I do not want to die in the nude and have been afraid to spend any time naked whatsoever for fear that I will be “caught” in the nude and frozen in my death without clothes on.  For months, I have made two exceptions: shower, and weighing myself.

I told her a few other things besides that.  Just some stuff going on over the past weeks, months that I never told her, maybe no one ever found out the whole story, maybe I’m finally telling it now.  Secrets.

She asked  me if I was going to show up at my PCP appointment tomorrow.  I told her I was planning to cancel.  She told me I’d better show up.  So I will.

 

 

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