Carino,

    A couple of months ago, my therapy sessions had become a bit too up close and personal. Truthfully, it happened quite early in my treatment, but I realised it far too late.

    For your information, when your therapist starts to contact you outside the time designated for your therapy, it's not because he's so professional.

    I've never thought of myself as a terrible judge of characters. Yet, here I am, holding the response letter from the Patient's Rights Office. They clearly saw nothing wrong with proposals of dropping by that man's apartment when I was in town.

    He even gave me his address, goddamnit.

    But still according to Mr Head of the Office such behaviour is totally acceptable. He even stressed I should be thankful that scum agreed to treat me in the first place.

    Life's a bitch, and apparently, so am I for being ungrateful.

    The stereotype of a gentle giant can go fuck itself. That bastard was supposed to help me, not make me relieve the worst parts of my life all over again.

    While reading that letter, I couldn't help but wonder if you'd let something like this go by. I recall pleading with you to stay, to not get yourself in trouble because the harm had already been done, and I needed you there, with me.

    It's kind of messed up; the first thing I think, I need a man to protect myself from the other men.

    Fucking patriarchy.

    I have no doubts if you were here, you wouldn't let that rat get away with this.

    But then again, if you were here, I wouldn't need a therapist to begin with.

    Yours truly, B