At some point before June 1991, he stopped hugging me goodbye in the same way he used to.
n.d., 1991
He disgusts me today, the way he seduces with his eyes, the mouth, the tentative mouth, the legs spread. He fools with his tie, strokes it, places it between his legs. Can he not know what he's doing? Does he not study himself as he goes through this process with me? But, of course, what he says: this is your interpretation (which is his interpretation). And what he asks: what comes to mind? (Is also his interpretation). I don't mention the tie. I'm so utterly shocked by the act.
I used to love psychoanalysis/thought I'd die without psychoanalysis/was my answer to everything. It was my religion, my father, my mother, my love.
copyright2005Esther Altshul Helfgott
At some point before June 1991, he stopped hugging me goodbye in the same way he used to
