Caswell. Mackenzie. Even his name is sexy. Since the day I met him, he's wandered through my dreams, sometimes as my doctor, sometimes as something more. I don't remember the dreams in great detail, but I wake up frequently with the sense that he's been somewhere near. I'm constantly chiding myself. He sees you as a patient. Only a patient. It's disturbing, really. I have another appointment coming up, my fourth one. In the second appointment, we covered a lot of my childhood. We talked about the loss of my family, and how I've dealt with the grief over the years. We've touched briefly on my depression, insecurity, and anxiety. I can't believe how hard it is to share those things with him, to make myself vulnerable in that way to someone I don't even know. I have to give him credit though; he makes it seem easier because he's really paying attention to me, really trying to understand me. That's what he's paid for.
