Yesterday, my psych and I briefly touched on my lack of eye contact – I’ve mentioned this before – and I observed that it hasn’t come up in therapy lately. I mused to myself that this is because we sit next to each other rather than opposite, and said aloud that it not being an issue has made it easier for me to be more relaxed.
What I didn’t discuss, but I suspect she already knows, is that I don’t look at her because I don’t want her to ‘read’ me. Not because I have anything to hide, but because my eyes might tell her a truth I’m not yet ready to speak. I know it is something we need to return to, but not until I have found words for the indescribable.
And not just that – I don’t want her to see the evil I am because once she does there will be no going back and she will, as others have, leave me. She already accurately reads my body language, even the things I am unaware of. To let her read my eyes is just a step too far. And yet I know eventually I must look at her, must let her see.
I have, on occasion, looked her squarely in the eye but only when I know I have pulled the blinds down far enough to keep her – and me – safe. The eyes really are the window to the soul, and my soul – if I still have one – is a very black place. So, for now, I will continue to avert my gaze.
It’s for the best.