Parting Words

“I like your drink bottle, by the way”.
His words hit me in the back of my head as I am leaving the room and instantly drop to the floor.
A beat. I turn. “I’m sorry, what?” I say
“Your drink bottle – I like it” This time the words go in but they change colour and become clearer as I make sense of them.
I am thinking ‘Oh my god. Really? My drink bottle has inspired a parting comment?’
I am frozen and hope my face doesn’t look as weirded out as I feel
“I bought some like that for my girls, they’re great. Not many moving parts”
I’m standing in the doorway of his office. The object of his attention hanging from my fingertips. I want my feet to carry me away but his words have lassoed me and won’t let me leave until I have made a reply.
“oh, that’s great. Thanks” ….Thanks?

Moments ago, I was sitting on the chair across from my psychologist revealing the worst things that have happened to me. Things that I’ve never talked about. Things I thought I needed to say to feel better. Things I know not to mention so easily again. I knew the appointment was coming to an end…. because of the clock. Positioned behind him, in my line of sight. That fucking clock. Screaming at me every session. Reminding me not to go too deep.

“Ok, I’m going to go now” is what I had said when there was 2 minutes left. It was the last appointment we were ever going to have. It was my last chance to make some kind of progress, to justify the time, the money, the vulnerability. If I knew that 2 hideous years of forcing myself to ‘show up’ as transparently as possible at these appointments would ultimately result in this…

I probably would have left my drink bottle at home.