Question Marks before Certainty

Twenty-six hours had passed since the last time I’d entered this room, and during that intervening time I was sure of what I wanted to talk about first. The words were already prepared, ready to be spoken, or so I thought. Fifty minutes was an eternity to utter a few sentences. Unfortunately, neither my body nor my mind seemed to believe this. By the time I got to my feet in the waiting area to walk into her office, those words and sentences that had insisted on being uttered were nowhere to be found. As I crossed the threshold of Sarah’s consulting room, and the couch greeted me from a few feet away, I felt engulfed in confusion. The words, I’m out of control, repeated themselves in my mind. Instantaneously, confusion became panic. Wait, I said to myself. Remember where you are. Control is relative. Let go of it. You never had it to start with. I reminded myself that I wasn’t alone in the room. More words arrived unannounced: what bothered me most was that I didn’t feel alone in my mind. Some threatening force refused to leave. Would words allow me to verbalize what I was experiencing in my mind to the analyst seated behind me? I didn’t want question marks. I wanted certainty. Why couldn’t mental life provide me with that?

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