![[dr. bob]](/dr-bob-sm.gif)
Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 2 of 2. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Susan47 on January 1, 2006, at 15:59:43
I remember his first letter said something about no trust, there was a lack of trust or something. Or maybe I just read that into it. I don't know, I've shredded everything he ever sent, it was all bad anyway, every letter of rejection was another cut to add to my inventory of wounds. It was okay though, it was all okay because I expected and welcomed every rejection, it was proof that I wasn't invisible. Like the child that will take any attention no matter how negative, as long as they're acknowledged; tell me I'm here, tell me that I matter to you, love me the way I love you or don't love me at all? It was so confusing. I don't know. It got so that I took pleasure in being perverse. Really. Pleasure. It was pleasure. It was a pleasure to be sickening to him, to turn him off, to think that I was making him vomiting me out in bad dreams and nightmares was so bad, though. I was hurting myself and I wanted to stop and I really Really wanted him to stop me, but he wouldn't, not without turning me away. I imagined him thinking about me and getting the shakes and chills. It was horrible, I felt like poison, all this poison was in me and needing to come out, and he was the only possible receptacle, but he should've been a sieve, not a receptacle ... guilt drove me to feel so terribly sorry for him, and love him so much, and hate myself more for doing this thing that I was doing, which was turning to his answering machine, which I hoped was recording everything and making it into something, something I could never hope to make sense of.
It doesn't matter. We didn't trust each other.
I still wonder sometimes, I just wonder so much what it would have been like to trust each other. It's like a broken record that keeps being played in the same groove, over and over again, the same phrase repeats itself again and again and it comes out in nightmares and strange dreams about broken houses and cobwebs and libraries of unread books...
Posted by Susan47 on January 2, 2006, at 15:37:27
In reply to So funny, my ex-T, posted by Susan47 on January 1, 2006, at 15:59:43
And I just want to say to him, you know if I had the chance, if I could, I would look him directly in the eyes and I would say, F*ck you for silencing me. Just f*ck you.
And I would want to. F*ck him. I would. I would want to make love to him too, and kiss every inch of his skin, which is beautiful, as physically beautiful as any part of him I've ever seen, which is disgusting, it's horrible to have to admit that, but his skin the skin he inhabits is gorgeous, and so are his bones and his muscles and his soul, somewhere there must be a beautiful soul to be able to have so much love infused into it ...
I hate him.
Correction.
I hated him. And I loved him. And he hurt me, and maybe I hurt him or maybe, maybe he had the sense to close off, but maybe it was already a bit late, maybe there was something he needed too ... I hate this. Why are some non-relationships so f*cking complicated? Why do they bring this stuff out, why need to vomit and excorcise exorcise, exor .. ex-rated, that's what this is. X-rated, like him and me, in my imagination, I did so many x-rated lovely things with him, I loved him so much, I wanted every part of him, and I wanted someone to feel that way about me too, which is really really .. sad.
This is the end of the thread.
Psycho-Babble Psychology | Extras | FAQ
Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.org
Script revised: February 4, 2008
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/cgi-bin/pb/mget.pl
Copyright 2006-17 Robert Hsiung.
Owned and operated by Dr. Bob LLC and not the University of Chicago.