My therapist is so, so sweet! I just blubbered and blubbered about how lonely I feel and she just listened and sympathized--which at first seemed like nothing that was going to help after I left my short time with her and went back to being alone, but I actually did feel better at the end. I guess blubbering helps.  And sympathy helps.  And she reminded me that I felt this way when I was a kid and my Mom was busy busy busy and my Dad was drunk and snoring in front of the tv and I felt like I was the last person on earth. The stupid sounds of the tv were the only signs of life around me, and no one on the tv knew I existed no matter what I did. I couldn't talk to my Dad, or even wake him up, and I certainly couldn't talk to the barracuda--who wasn't even there anyway. I just wandered around the house, eating ice cream and crying and wanting to die.  Even when the barracuda came home it didn't feel better, because I was afraid she'd just yell at me about something, so I'd pretend I was asleep when she looked in.  Sometimes she'd wake up my Dad and yell at him, and he just slurred nonsense back.  I felt like anything could happen to me--there was no protection from anything.

The amazing thing is that having my therapist understand what all that was like for me--I mean she really seemed to understand what it felt like--actually made me feel safer, more protected, and not as alone. Even though she didn't really do anything.