Mr. Open isn't being so open today. Which means his head is preoccupied. In therapy today the subject of sexual progress was gingerly broached and I pointed out what had happened yesterday morning and Jacob denied it.
Because, really, who are they going to believe? Who is anyone going to believe? I point out my need for my own friends and not just Jacob's friends who are all on his side and quick to condemn my actions. I point out his complete and utter ignorance of Oct. 1, which was an incredibly painful anniversary in our lives and he bitterly pointed out that we fixed that and we're not marking any more dark days and just like that he decided that all was well and he wasn't going to dwell on any of it.
Or even admit half of it.
Like he won't admit that every morning we run down to the park by the river to Cole's bench to kill two birds with one stone and every morning the bench is upside down. Not just tipped over but turned end over teakettle and moved back so it's exactly on the spot it usually sits. Every other bench is fine and every single morning Jacob puts it back, which is no small feat since it is cast iron.
See, he's removed all the obstacles and once again is faced with the glaring part.
Bridget isn't well.
She should be by now, shouldn't she? I took away everything she knows, and everything that was in my way. Why isn't she better now?
Gee, honey. Maybe because you're not listening. Because you know better. Because no one's going to believe her anyways. She, after all, manipulates you.
Whatever.
I'm done with therapy. All it does is pit us against each other and that isn't what I want.
