12/3 nonsense

I cried in therapy this week. I cry in therapy every week. I think therapy is an excellent place to learn how to cry in front of someone either in person or on camera without whispering the words “I’m sorry” as the tears cease.

Instinctively, I placed my hand against my chest, right against my heart, and rubbed the area until I felt like I could blink with purpose.

My therapist asked me, “What is that you’re doing?”

And I thought of them. 

I thought of four years ago, when someone I loved was still hiking in Southern mountains and spent their days in EMT training. In the early hours of the morning, I’d encounter another bipolar shift, brought on by whatever happenstance it was that day, blubbering in snot and brain damage in their sturdy arms. 

They would place their hand against my chest, pressing until the pressure reached for my lungs . In one motion, I’d gasp for air and find them through the blur in my vision, repeating “Thank you” in a low whisper until I exhausted myself.

I told my therapist this, how after they left me, I continued the motion. In the two years we’ve spent apart, I’ve kept this as a necessary impulse. They have moved across the country and fallen in love with someone else. They don’t spare a thought for me, nor should they.

Because I keep this without thought. I keep my imaginings light, the ones where they’re on top of Western mountains and online shopping for wedding rings. Where someone else teaches them a new grounding method and holds them with intention.

And me?

Well, I cry in therapy.