Thank you, Rambo. I love you.

Thursday's email to the therapist:

I feel Rambo chomping at the bit and I want to tell you why right away before he breaks free and takes off on his own in order to get the message across. It will scare the little girl if that happens. It's about the storage unit metaphor. I don't like it. It's not more storage I need. I have a virtual WAREHOUSE in here. It's huge and it's stuffed to the rafters. What I need is what I have always needed. I need someone to be there for me to help me deal with whatever escapes and presents itself without minimizing it or advising me to meditate it away. The last thing I need is yet another way to sweep things under the rug or stuff them in some overcrowded file cabinet. I have no intention of becoming a toxic waste storage facility. I used to be one of those. I had migraine headaches, constant sinus and urinary tract infections, never ending allergic fits, severe arthritis and all kinds of pains all over my body. I was a physical mess. I have cured myself of all of these maladies mostly by refusing to keep storing things. I will not revert to being sick in order to be less of a pain in the ass or to be more 'normal'. You should know by now that I don't give a rat's ass about behavioral type stuff, and storing toxic garbage cannot possibly benefit ME. What do I look like -- Three Mile Island or something? No deal.

Do you remember the Sheila Rock photo that I have hanging in my living room? It is called La Reunion. It is a man and a woman embracing on the platform of a train station. It had an old and rickety black frame around it and I have been thinking of reframing it for years. You and I even discussed it once, but the very word 'reframing' completely turned me off after that. Now, more than two years later, I can finally tell you about that. Tonight I freed the people of La Reunion from their frame in protest against the inherent dishonesty and bullshit of the CBTs. And in solidarity with MYSELF. They want to be FREE. I freed them and I rehung them back into the center of my home. They want to be free to move without being confined or asked to 'reframe' atrocities into lies and without being asked to store up garbage. They are ME. You are invited to join us if you like, but we have no intention of creating more places to store festering crap. Let me know if I can expect to see you on the train platform. I really need to know. And no, this is not an attack against you. I am simply acting as the GPS system here and letting you know that you took a wrong turn. You took a turn away from the train platform. Let me know if you can make your way back here to the place where Rambo has reluctantly agreed to carry a purse, but only because it is an olive drab little canvas number with a very short shoulder strap. Here -- the place where he alerted me to your misstep so I could write to you about it this morning instead of 'storing it' until it pissed him off. Can you meet me here? I really need to know.