No one likes to be thrown into the middle of something. How could I be calm? Somehow, I knew I had to be. Psychotherapy was serious to me, and I found myself where I didn’t belong. Something important was happening, inside both of these human beings seated across from each other. There was nothing calm in what I imagined was happening between these two bodies and minds. Tension wasn’t the right word. Word wasn’t the right word. One of the two minds was trying to get rid of what was overwhelming it. Or maybe both of them were. The destination of these unwanted mental contents was a few feet away: the psychoanalytic psychotherapist who was listening to him. In my own mind, I became the therapist and the recipient of these unconscious communications. I wanted to speak. What could I possibly say, to either one? I didn’t want these images and words in my head. Was this all a dream? Maybe I was asleep, in a metaphorical way. Maybe my imagination, my unconscious, was informing me about what was happening in my own mind. I was in the middle of something: my own inner confusion. These words helped. I felt as if I were recording last night’s dream on paper. The rest of the day awaited me.