crying in front of a donut ad

my therapist once told me that every monday, he disappears without any trace, without any internet-connected device on him, without even the trackers he usually have on his belt and in his shoes1. his driver drops him somewhere and leave him to walk further alone. he only has his radio panic button with him, which upon becoming static sends a signal to his driver to finally pick him up. the point of this is to tell me that even (heavily experienced) psychotherapists need some alone time off too. the problem is this: i live in a one bedroom apartment with my mom, sharing a triple decker bed. we both have our privacy shutters, but it’s not exactly easy to cry my lungs out when i could hear the angry [redacted religion] preachers she listens to under my pillow. a common occurrence in our sessions, i nodded at my therapist and said, “sure, i will do that.” narrator: she did not, in fact, do that. it had been months since we talked about that, and only this week did i finally venture out…