She says she heard who I am in those recordings. She confidently states those hours are who I am. My whole 42 year life and 24 year struggle to become a person is able to be distilled into a recording of me experiencing mental health symptoms.

That’s not who I am. That’s what my dysfunction is. She’s very insistent when it comes to her regarding anything like this that words matter. Terms matter. Intents matter. Structure matters. Incredibly insistent and stubborn.

At some point, these aren’t innocent mistakes. At some point her words matter. She’s had plenty of opportunity to make them precise. She chose to say that she heard who I was in those recordings. She knows I’m not me. She knows I’m my mental illness.

And because of that, as evidenced by her weekly generalized advice (most of it not about me), I’m a “bad person.” And because of that I don’t deserve to be entirely comfortable, which is code for boundaries, as she used it, as Jessica used it, as I tried to use it.

At some point these aren’t innocent misunderstandings or mistakes. They’re either grave dysfunction or malice. And I’m their latest victim. Unless, of course, I don’t matter.