Obsessions kindly
If only my obsessions were as real as I dream
If only the silent letters I compose to you could somehow find their way
You don’t know how much I could love you
Another life
Another day
A single kiss if only you would stay
My precious infatuation that I cannot let go
Nor can I ever hope to define
I was a girl’s wish come true
I believed that you were somehow mine
I was a girl’s wish come true
The girl who wasn’t you
Emily I wish you’d let me break your heart
And hold your rings and hair
And all the things I want you to be
So I could keep you here
Emily
You will remember me
Oh Emily
Deliver me
***
I went out last night to see Mary for the first time in a few weeks. She resigned as a regular DJ, and she’s incredibly busy right now because of a real estate snafu, so I haven’t seen her as much as usual, and it’s sort of difficult to get in touch with her. But last night she was DJing, so I made sure to go out and see her. It was a 50-50, maybe 60-40 sort of night: I split my time between dancing and sitting behind the DJ booth quietly upset, drawing or writing (see above). I saw Michelle yesterday afternoon, and she suggested I think about seeing a therapist not affiliated with the university so that I could develop a longer-term, more reliable relationship with a therapist not constrained by the time limitations of the university counseling center. It’s a possibility, but I don’t know if I would feel the same talking about my feelings about someone with a new person who never knew her as I would talking to someone who did know her. A different therapist might understand the feelings, but just wouldn’t have the specific familiarity. What scares me is the possibility that I’ll never be able to adjust my ideal of Candice to something more realistic, that could allow me to accept other people and myself without measuring them against the perfect woman that I can’t help but imagine Candice is (because I never saw much to discount her perfection). I’m scared that I won’t be able to allow a significant other in my life again because it might feel disloyal. How do I come to terms with the reality that the good shining in a weary world is gone? Is there anything else that could hope to be as beautiful and pure as my ideal?
On different occasions during my time with Candice, I would refer to a section in Marya Hornbacher’s book “Wasted.” I was surprised to learn that she hadn’t read it, because it’s probably the best known memoir on the subject of eating disorders. After Candice called me that Friday morning in early August (maybe late July, but I think early August) to tell me she was leaving, we made three last appointments. At the first of those three appointments, I gave her my copy of the book, which I had secretly bought when I was 14 and at the worst point of my eating disorder. I read that book three times (as well as two times halfway, but I stopped both times, I guess because I had just exhausted the book and wasn’t finding anything new in it by that point), loaned it at different times to Chloe and to Lily, and had quoted it in a paper. I had owned that book for six years and it was probably the most significant piece of literature to me, and it was very meaningful to me to give her that book. She thanked me and explained that she had actually just checked out a copy from the library, but was going to have to return it now because she was moving away, so my gift was perfectly timed. My reasons for giving her that book were several. I felt it would help her understand a lot of the things I had said during our time together and I think it’s a very thorough account of some of the thought processes that underly eating disorders, but I also wanted very much to be remembered. While she likely wouldn’t forget about me too easily (I probably saw her longer, for more sessions than anyone else during her career at the university; she said, when I asked if a patient had ever had feelings for her before, that that had happened a few times to some extent, but never so intensely as with me; and I like to think my articulation, perseverance, and humor made an impression as well), I wanted to make sure that she would remember me and the time that we spent working together. And it occurred to me today, that any time one of her patients (or even co-workers) refers to that book and any time that a patient expresses something that is detailed in that book, she will remember me. There is some comfort in knowing she will remember me.
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