Dr. S. asked today if I ever did lose my mind. I almost confessed to reckless experimentations with hallucinogens in my early 20s, but then I looked at his tan socks, and his clay coffee mug and his print of a Winnecott book cover on the wall (mother and child) and I just couldn't. There was an uncomfortable silence as I prepared my lie. And the moment passed. I can fess up to many things, but not LSD. To my shrink. Oh no. He has such nice comforting socks.
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