Crossing bridges

lundi, le 07 septembre 2009

Today The Shrink asks me how I felt about talking to L’homme and seeing him. I tell her that I’m pathetically proud that I managed to voice a condition of my own. I tell her that it was the most exotic food for my soul to feel his arms around me.

I tell her that my head and my heart went into full-scale nuclear warfare. My heart defended giving in to his demands because that is the person I am, my head accusing that I should have turned his demands down and sent him away, the way he did with me.

She asks me to make a list of what is better for me without L’homme and what worse for me without him. I doodle in my journal and come up with:

I stare at the page with some disbelief. I close my journal and walk away.

I sense very faintly that I may fear to let go of L’homme, I fear to really SEE all his colours, to acknowledge them and to admit that many of his colours are simply not good enough for ME. Is this what happens when you start shifting from not good enough to the cutest, the best, the most beautiful, the most wonderful, the most precious and most miraculous gift you were when you were born?

(On our barge trip through the South of France last year, we had to steer under many beautiful little bridges. I wonder whether it is time for me to start burning bridges, building bridges or simply crossing bridges.)

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