To Dr. Sherbourne:
Do you even realize what you’re doing? My Lawrence only pulled you in because he needs someone to tell him he’s been a bad boy. Well, bravo, because you’re doing a fucking good job of that.
Who the fuck are you? What makes you think that you’re in any position to tell him he’s done something wrong? He hasn’t done anything at all! How dare you instruct him never to speak to me again? You talk to my Lawrence for one hour and you think you can take control of his life? I don’t think so.
What’s happening here? I just don’t know anymore. I’ve lost my centre. I’m so disconnected. I worry. I knew Lawrence would pull in a therapist who would just reflect his self-loathing back at him. What good does that do?
I hate myself. How could I have become such a failure? Why has nothing ever worked out for me? Why won’t Lawrence simply surrender?
And now he quite mournfully states that he can never speak to me again.
Why was I never good enough?
Where do I go from here?