Could I, say, take a knife and press down on the joint to remove it? I remember my mother, waving a kitchen knife, saying she would cut off my hand. My mother, a woman who never paid attention to me, until she did, all at once. Later she came to my room and apologized. Mommy is sorry, but you need to understand I love you and I just lost my temper a little bit because you weren’t listening. If you listen to what I tell you then I won’t need to do that anymore. She would tell me stories of how she did right by her life and how I ought to learn from her example. I will be there for you, always. Remember, there are things only a mother can help you with. But that was a lie. She went away, just like my boyfriend. He heartlessly told me over dinner he no longer loved me. I knew he was with another woman. He abandoned me, just like everyone. That same day, I almost cut myself. I remembered my high school friend who would tell me how she would use a razor to open her thighs. I played with the razor between mi fingers, imagining how my wrist could cry red. Maybe then others would know my pain, and he would come and kneel on the hospital bed as he begged to just be okay. But I decided he would never do that. It was not worth it. Just then flashes of images came to me—my body hanging, a gun to my head, or a bottle off pills—as I set the razor down. I will always be alone. Left alone by others. Go rot in a dark bed under the covers. Who could love me as I am? I am broken and should be thrown away.

But I push these thoughts away. I focus on my finger and the pain it brings. It is my finger that hurts now and that which I should solve and focus on. This finger, that I contemplate removing, is in pain.

Get over yourself retard. Cut it off or be just like the pussy rest of us.

My therapist is disappointed in me that I did not do what she asked. I try to explain.

I just think maybe there is some treatment I could do to take the pain away, and then I wouldn’t need to lose my finger. Or, you know, I don’t if it hurts so bad that it is worth getting rid of. And what if it goes away?

My therapist shakes her head.

I just do not understand the resistance you have about this.

But, I say as I look down, It’s my finger.

We have gone through this countless times before. First it was Joshua, then your mother, then Anthony, then your friend Casey, then your job, and now it is your finger. When are you going to understand you cannot feel better if you do not make any real change in your life?

She shuts the workbook she was holding and sets it aside.

You need to understand that I was at my unhappiest when I waa living with my husband and kids. Cutting it off from him was the best decision of my life. As an openly queer woman, I am the happiest I have ever been.

She sighs

I am trying to help you. You need to understand that what I am doing is to help you and only you. I have completed a two-year masters and countless trainings in EMDR and somatic therapy. I am the person who can help you.

I’m still not sure if cutting off my finger is what I should do.

I just want you to know that if you don’t get better, it isn’t because you didn’t respond to the treatment. I did everything right.

She squeezes between her eyes.

I apologize. Look, I know making change is hard. I can just get frustrated when I am trying to help someone, but they don’t help themselves. Let me give you some homework. I want you to think about what life would look like without your finger, and let’s talk about it next week.

The session is over, and I am looking again at my aching finger. Maybe I should cut it off? Maybe there is another way? I wonder and think about what I should do. Should I cut it off or keep it?

I don’t know, but maybe I should find a new therapist.

—THE END—

>>25554511
Not part of the story, btw.

Thank you all for reading.

>She squeezes between her eyes.
Godawful writing. If you don't know what the space between your eyes is called, you'll never make it as a writer. That's probably also why you used AI to gen this.

>written from the perspective of a woman
You can't write women. No woman thinks or speaks the way you wrote. It was too cold and logical.

>>25554508
> My therapist told me to cut off my finger.
For it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell?

>>25554848
Gee Bill, you have two members?

>>25554508
That's a metaphor for cutting off some of the work you're doing, in other words you did too much.

Bump.

It's not that horrible. The idea with the finger and the therapist is ok.
>I played with the razor between mi fingers, imagining how my wrist could cry red. Maybe then others would know my pain, and he would come and kneel on the hospital bed as he begged to just be okay
The part around here is lame.
The whole third post is a bit sloppy. If you edit it to all be on the level of the first post it will be ok.

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>>25554515
>As an openly queer woman

>>25556486
Tell me more about the 3rd part and what makes it lame. My idea is to capture the experience of being someone seriously ill and having a bad therapist. I’m curious how you feel that meshes with the first part.

>>25556790
Yes, purposely cringe.

I think your therapist just misunderstood The Banshees of Inisherin.