I sent this to the therapist for Monday's appointment. What do you think? Will I be the one doing the firing, or will I be the one who gets fired?

You and I have already heard from Rambo and also from the little girl (last email). Saturday morning I heard from the teenage girl and I've been feeling very sad and depressed since then.

Here are the dream symbols:
1. Donald Trump - older, leader, teacher, host to students - Bad hair aside, he is YOU (and not in some freaky guru sort of way because I'm too smart for that kind of baloney)
2. Trump Towers - represents the possibility of greater prosperity and an opportunity for new learning and success - It is the therapy

Here is the dream:
I dreamed of the teenage girl. She was a student at Trump Towers where Donald Trump was presiding over some kind of educational program. She had been affected by some heinous action of his and she began talking about it. I knew she was talking a little bit too much and a little bit too loud. Being older and 'wiser' than she, I also knew that such things are generally not well received. I tried to talk to her about that in the nicest way possible. It was then that I discovered she could not hear me. I was but a ghost following her around. Mr. Trump got wind of her very vocal complaints, and he threw her out of the program at Trump Towers. He was quite upset and practically chased her out of there. I followed alongside and was wondering if there was any way to patch up the problem and salvage the girl's opportunity, but... no one could hear me. It was then that we passed a doctor in surgical scrubs coming out of what appeared to be an operating room. Then I became uncomfortable and was eager to match the girl's swift pace to exit the building. There was a car waiting outside. The girl and I got in the backseat and the driver sped away. The girl began to scream and wail and she said she was going to throw herself from the car. She reached for the door and I started screaming for the driver to slow the car because the girl was going to jump. Then I woke up.

It's not just Rambo. You need to talk to the teenage girl, too. Not just about her fear of you, but also about the incident that created it. I know you and I have talked about this in depth, but she can't hear me. You have no idea how much I hate it that it has come to me having to frankly admit to you how compartmentalized things really are in here, but... it is what it is.

***

If you want to know how she feels, here is a conversation I wrote down that took place between the little girl and the teenage girl on October 31, 2008:

Little Girl - He does care. He does. He helped me when I was scared. I didn't have to be alone anymore because he cared about me. I want him back. Please give him back.

Teenage Girl - It's just his job. He doesn't really care. Not the way you think. Beside, he's just a therapist. He's faking. That's what they do. They pretend to care about people. He can't give you what you want. That ship's done sailed, honey. He's not your mother. Face it - your mother couldn't love you.

Little Girl - But he really does care about me. I know it's true. I felt it lots of times. I felt it through the body that day in his office when he said it. He said he cares very much about me and I felt the truth. He wasn't lying. He didn't mean just me, he cares about you, too.

Teenage Girl - He cares about you until you upset him. As long as you don't get really upset like I did, then he will 'care'. If something really, really horrible happened to you, and you can't stand it and you start freaking out, he might get mean.

Little Girl: He wasn't mean to me. He talked to me and he was nice to me all those times when I couldn't stop crying. He protected me from them when they came to get me. They wanted to hurt me and he sent them away and told them not to bother me. I feel better when he is around. Please give him back. I have to have him. Please!

Teenage Girl: Well, I don't have to have him. I don't want him. He didn't care for me. I couldn't stop crying because of him. I was hurt and scared and he didn't want me bothering him. He wanted to drug me and shut me up. You heard him. He would rather have seen us brain damaged by dope than care about me. He hates me. I was hurt, too, but he was mean to me because of it and he sent me away. He IS them.

Little Girl: Drops to the floor and sobs.

***

I don't know what to do anymore. But I DO know what NOT to do. Don't say psychiatrist, take medication, get some other therapist, and don't send anyone away. You must know something about what to do. You are the therapist. It says on your website that you can handle abuse issues. I have abuse issues. I hate to tell you this, but I can't possibly be THAT unique that a therapist who handles abuse issues doesn't know what to do with me. Unless said therapist relies on the lies of forgiveness, forgetting, and brain damaging drugs. Then I suppose a therapist might be at a loss with someone like me who can't be hoodwinked.

I recently thought of something that might be important. In early 2006 (before the incident with the teenage girl), you asked me if I could consult a psychiatrist. I told you I would not. That was not traumatic for me because I was ME. And because it just seemed like a routine sort of thing. It was disappointing though, because I thought you were enlightened and this made you seem so much less different from the garden variety quacks I had distinguished you from. Rambo says no. He calls this early evidence of your true values.

It seems, should you wish to continue, that you have your work cut out for you. I guess you need to speak with Rambo AND the teenage girl. If you can't hack it, just tell me right away. I can't deal with any added crap. My cup runneth over. Good luck and may the force be with you. And with me. Jenny, who is very close with Rambo, has informed me that you are the... (Notice the Grandfather's red rotary phone in the video that Jenny directed me to. She's a little weird like that. It's uncanny. I've told you about that phone before. I wonder if you even remember. Rambo bets you don't. I suspend judgment because I'm the sort who likes evidence. Thoughts are not compelling evidence. I would prefer you telling me what you remember about the red rotary phone.)