(for J. with so much love)
"There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion."
—Sir Francis Bacon
I'd like to start this story by telling you a little about myself.
My name is Tori, and I'm forty-eight.
I'm a mom. My daughter is twenty-three, and she's my angel, my everything, and my support system.
I live alone in a small apartment in Bay City, Texas.
It's hard living alone.
I'm not your average woman. I suffer from bipolar depression. All my life I have felt so very different from other people, so irrevocably alone and haunted by an eternal, ineffable sense of sadness and yearning. I cry a lot, and I'm extremely sensitive.
I'm also very overweight. I have an extremely addictive personality and I've had drug issues in the past, as well.
And I've been single for decades. In fact, I've only had one romantic relationship in my entire life, and that was when I was married. He was a good guy, but we were very young. I left him after only eighteen months of marriage.
But it seems like he was the only man who ever loved me, I guess.
Most people crave and dream to have one thing more than anything else in their lives. That one thing differs from person to person. Some people want money. Some people desire fame. Others just search for peace of mind...
Me, I always wanted love. A man who cared about me as much as I cared about him.
I can't remember not feeling this way. Even as a young girl I dreamed of finding a romantic relationship. I used to get painful crushes on male celebrities. My first crush was when I was eleven years old and saw "The Goonies" for the first time. After I left the movie theater I couldn't stop thinking about Corey Feldman. I would moon over his pictures in magazines and cry because I knew I would never get the chance to meet him.
I don't know if my morbid preoccupation with the male sex had anything to do with my upbringing. My parents divorced when I was six, and my dad pretty much vanished from my life. He was always distant and critical... My mother remarried, and my stepfather was unbelievably cruel, cold, and emotionally and physically abusive.
Basically, I have always been obsessed with men, and I become infatuated extremely easily. At the drop of a hat, really. I even love male pronouns, he, him. His.
I worship the symbols of the father. And I have always felt that the chronic hole in my soul could and would only be filled by the right male partner, and nothing else.
*
"Come in, Tori," Dr. Jacob Sanderson says.
I pick up my purse and lift myself slowly from the waiting room chair. I've gained so much weight lately it feels difficult to walk today.
That's the problem with antidepressants. They make you voraciously hungry.
My heart is already beating fast.
Or perhaps fluttering.
I make my way into Dr. Sanderson's office. With every effort I try to sink gracefully into the therapeutic sofa.
Dr. Sanderson takes his chair opposite me.
"So, Tori. How are things going with you lately?"
I have been seeing Dr. Sanderson for about six months now.
After our initial meeting six months ago, I came home and looked him up on Facebook. I found his profile and sent him a message via Facebook Messenger:
Dear Dr. Sanderson,
I truly and deeply apologize for this intrusion upon and violation of your privacy. Please forgive me for this. But I felt an undeniable urgency to reach out to you. Maybe you will understand why when I tell you what I need to tell you.
In our first session I touched upon my fixation with men. But I probably didn't fully illustrate my issues with them. When I have an object of affection I never fail to ruminate upon him excessively and obsessively. It's a problem I've never been able to conquer, unless he is removed from my life completely. I don't know if it is possibly an addiction to limerence (forgive me, I don't really know what I'm talking about) and the mere neuro-chemicals of infatuation or...
Let me iterate strongly that in no way did you invite this in me. I can't say how professional you are, how brilliant and learned and capable a therapist. I in no way meant for this to happen nor wanted it to. I simply find you extremely physically beautiful and appealing and have found that since our initial meeting I can't stop thinking about you. I realize that I have done some type of transference already and it can't be good for therapy.
This is going to break my heart. I feel like you are the answer to my prayers as a therapist. But I suppose these deeper and inappropriate feelings for you would negate our visits and possible progress. I suppose I am going to lose you as a therapist. I understand if this is the only natural and possible repercussion of my innermost feelings for you.
Again, please forgive me for intruding into your personal life like this. I'm finding it uncomfortable to deal with these feelings again. The thoughts about you are excessive and intrusive, and it's difficult to do anything else. If this means that we need to end our professional relationship, believe me I understand completely.
Thank you for what you did for me alone during our initial visit. I've stayed sober, and I feel this has greatly been inspired by you.
Again I am so sorry for this. Have a good evening.
Sincerely,
Tori Spencer
But Dr. Sanderson didn't fire me as a patient. He did block me on Facebook, but he didn't fire me.
I remember what happened on the next visit with him.
He led me into his office. I sat down on the sofa.
Immediately I said, "Dr. Sanderson, I'm so very sorry for what I wrote to you. It was extremely impulsive on my part. Please forgive me. I'm hoping I can still be your patient."
He didn't smile, but his beautiful face was kind and softened and understanding.
"I'm glad you recognize that your action was impulsive, Tori. But I'm not going to fire you as a patient. I admit I am flattered. You of course must understand that you and I share a professional relationship, and that is all it can ever be. And I'm attached of course. If you can refrain from being intrusive into my personal life and realize the reality of our situation and not have issues with it, I am fine with continuing to counsel you."
The relief I felt was immense.
But I noticed after every session that I couldn't stop thinking about Dr. Sanderson. And sometimes I would be thinking about him, and suddenly hot tears would begin sliding down my cheeks.
You should get a female therapist, I thought to myself.
But no. I couldn't.
I knew I was crazy. But it didn't change the fact I was in love.
With Dr. Jacob Sanderson.
Dr. Jacob.
Jacob.
*
When I sit across from you
I am lost in your strength and grace,
Your elegance and wit.
I grow lost in the warm, dark caverns
Of your eyes that, like your words
And the surroundings I find myself in,
Promise the ultimate gift of sanctuary.
I find myself hungering for the paths
Only you can take me down.
But I also itch to touch you, to wrap
Myself in your arms. And now
I cannot cease thinking about you.
When something is hard to do
I tell myself, Do it for him.
I know you will never be mine,
But perhaps I can dream of a day when
I might find someone just like you.
I didn't mean to commit such a sin.
I pray I don't lose you because of it.
*
Why does it feel so beautiful?
You make me feel exhilarated.
So alive.
You're older than me.
I just... I just want to curl into you.
Put my head on your chest.
You're so tall,
I know you would make me feel
So deliciously small.
Inferior and vulnerable,
The way I yearn to feel.
You're hauntingly beautiful.
Your features aren't perfect, but it only
Makes you more beautiful, somehow.
And you have the most beautiful smile.
When you smile at me,
I feel giddy as a schoolgirl.
Even your large, beautiful hands...
I can't think of another word
To describe it all
Except beautiful.
And this beautiful, soft burning
That I feel for you...
I have to never say a word again.
Because you're not mine
And never will be.
But now I know exactly what I want
In someone.
I want him to wear glasses.
I want him to have your humor,
Your compassion.
That sparkle in his eye.
Thank you for that.
*
What is it that feels so different about today?
Maybe it's because, of all days to have a therapy appointment, it's Valentine's Day.
Understandably, I've always had a love-hate relationship with the holiday. All my ache for love and romance and male affection culminates on this particular day, but my prayers are never answered.
Still, I am in a surprisingly good mood. I try to ignore the fact that it's because I get to see Dr. Sanderson.
But I've been in the habit of buying myself a new dress every couple of weeks (to say it's not for him would be lying), and I'm wearing my newest purchase. It's a floor-length spaghetti strap with a black and red floral pattern and white calla lilies at the hem. I'm wearing the new expensive perfume I ordered from English Laundry. It smells so delicious, so sensual and warm. I've curled my hair into a loose chignon with small tendrils delicately framing my face.
I look… as pretty as I can look.
Now I fold my hands gently in my lap in Dr. Sanderson's office.
"I guess things are pretty much the same…" I begin to tell him.
Our session goes by as it usually does. The sweet back and forth, inside jokes, laughter. I have to keep continual focus on the conversation so I don't lose myself in his deep, warm brown eyes behind his glasses. When he talks, his answers to my questions are like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally falling into place—he has been able to provide answers for me that no other therapist has. He is so brilliant, so educated, so good at what he does, he knows and understands me like the back of his hand.
You're like God to me, I think.
I try to ignore the other voice inside my head. It's his job, you crazy idiot.
As the time goes by, I realize that our session will soon be over.
No, I suddenly think.
I will have to go back home afterwards, I realize.
Back to myself.
Back to the pain. The aloneness. The emptiness.
Back to nothing.
I want to cry, but I won't let myself. Not today, despite the fact I have cried many times over my issues during our sessions. I don't want to ruin the delicate makeup I applied so painstakingly this morning.
I'll cry in private. Where he won't see me.
Just wait, I think to myself. Wait until the session is over.
Only then will I let myself feel.
*
The session is over. I'm preparing to leave and forcing back my tears with every ounce of strength I have in me.
It's then that Dr. Sanderson takes me by surprise.
"Tori, there's something serious I need to talk to you about. Can you stay here just for a moment?"
Oh no, I think to myself. He's finally going to fire me as a patient. I've done something wrong, said something wrong… Or his caseload is too full and he has to let me go. Something… Something is just… Very… Very. Wrong.
I don't know how to react when he gets up and walks to the door, closing it softly and locking it behind him.
My eyes notice for the first time that the parking lot is empty through the window. Everyone has gone home for the day.
I was his last patient.
Suddenly I realize that Dr. Sanderson has always been right about something.
He once said, "You know, Tori. You don't really know the person I truly am. There are qualities you like in me that you desire to find in a partner of your own. But I'm really like a blank slate for you. A tabula rasa, if you will. You can paint your desires and dreams on my statue. But you only know a side of me that I show at work. You might not like the real me. You might not like Jacob."
Those same words came rushing back to me now.
And I wondered…
Is this man going to kill me?
Is this man who I believed I was infatuated with and whom I have longed for so desperately for six months now going to murder me in his own therapy office?
Dr. Sanderson quickly returns to his chair in front of me.
"Tori, I don't know an easy way to tell you what I need to tell you," he begins to say.