Gestalt Ch. 00.2: Angel Trumpet Flower

I discussed the situation with my therapist and she assured me it was a perfectly natural and not uncommon happening; she was encouraging yet cautioned me to take it at a gentle, relaxed pace. When I told her I was considering extending my stay to coincide with Chancy's release, she suggested that my presence might actually distract her from her mandated recovery process and that, as I was showing marked improvements in my sense-of-self and coping strategies, to the point that she couldn't honestly recommend extending my stay, it might be best for me to venture out into the world and reestablish myself in a position of empowerment rather than cling to the artificial safety of this situation. That way, I could create something more grounded to offer upon Chancy's release, then she also reminded me to not get too invested in the outcome as no one could know for sure what the intervening months might bring. It seemed like a huge emotional risk to take but I figured it was just time to put my big-girl-panties on and face what-may-come with courage and conviction and handfuls of positive affirmations clutched in my sweaty palms.

But before I left, Chancy decided to have at least a sample of what would be waiting for her, securely tucked inside said big-girl-panties. We had not even progressed beyond hand-holding during our time together (taking it slow) but on my last night she snuck into my room and gave me a sweet preview of heaven. We fell asleep, flushed, sweaty, deliriously enraptured, entwined in each other's arms. In the morning we made a solemnly giggling pinky-promise to reunite as soon as she had satisfactorily completed her sentencing requirements and, with one last sweet kiss, we parted ways, she heading to morning yoga and me heading for the front desk to be released on my own recognizance into the great-wide-unknown ahead of me.

My therapist met me in the reception area, waiting patiently and beaming beneficence at me until I had finished filling out and signing all the required documents, which oddly seemed way more numerous than what had been required of me to enter the facility (kinda like divorce; is disentanglement just intrinsically more challenging?). She gave me a big hug that made my nipples stiffen and handed me her card, telling me that if I ever felt like I was in danger of a relapse I could contact her at any time and she would get back to me as soon as her schedule allowed; I wondered if she did this with all her patients or if we really truly did have the special bond that I had grown to hopefully suspect. I knew I still had plenty of issues to resolve before I was fully healed, but for the first time in my life I had a special someone that I loved, who really made me want to become a better person, and my therapist's vote of confidence and gesture of continued support really did encourage me to maintain faith in my ultimate goodness; it's something I'm working on.

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