I was reading a number of different books when she came to me. I had a few books stacked near the bed. It was April 15, 2000. A normal day in the life of a psychotherapist who felt on top of the world.

Yes, I'm talking about me.

Two of the books were somewhat related to one another. One was from the study material that I had on psychodynamic/psychoanalytic therapy. I had been pursuing credentials in this area though I was aware that the theories were hard to prove.

I suppose there are a number of concepts from psychodynamic/psychoanalytic theory that is useful to know as a therapist. Defense mechanisms, like projection and transference, rationalization, and repression.

Then there was a book on ego state theory. This did seem like a valuable framework for understanding the different states of mind that describe the normal processes of life. Making love is a state of mind altogether different than other states of mind - I certainly am not in that same state of mind when I am at work.

The other book was called "Paperclip Dolls." This was peculiar. It was written by a woman who had different alter personalities put this book together. She said she used pictures from magazines to create a scrapbook that depicted parts of herself. Hmm.

Was she one of the dolls? That seemed to be what she was suggesting. She seemed to have discovered aspects of herself from the work she had done using these pictures that she cut out of the magazines.

I had only recently stumbled upon this book.

I had been treating people with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) which is discussed in greater detail, dear reader, in another book in this series of memoirs. There were some conspiracy theories circulating about government mind control and other bizarre things. I had clients who were sharing some unusual ideas about what had happened to them early in life.

Treating DID was only a small part of what made up my private practice. Dissociative Identity Disorder used to be called Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) and it is based on the idea of people having different personalities due to early life trauma.

I had been searching the web for information about DID, treatment, abuse, trauma, and other terms. Those were keywords I used in my searches. I found forums, chat rooms, web sites. Directories and more. Some were directed perhaps to therapists and other mental health professionals. However, even those were available to the public.

Many confused people could end up believing in things that never happened. Delusions. Some people seemed to have become certain about what happened to them, and yet if it were true, it would be an explosive conspiracy theory or set of conspiracy theories.

What had happened to these people? So many curious ideas were running through my mind. My mindset was somewhat philosophical. Curious. Inquisitive.

I let that go. I looked up and Lynn was at the bedroom door.

She had a mischievous smile on her face. "I want sex," she said.

"Me too," I said, my face lit up with a smile. I took off my shirt as she was unbuttoning her shirt.

She dropped her pants on the floor and removed her bra. Seeing her breasts, I felt aroused and excited. My heart was racing with excitement. I was aroused as I removed my pants. I paused captivated by the sight of her as if I was seeing her for the first time.

She dropped her pants and underwear and I paused for a moment to take in the sight of her and she let me look. Lynn knew how much pleasure I found in looking at her. No doubt, it felt good for her to know she was so beautiful to me.

"Perfect," I said. She smiled. Looking down she noticed I was excited, but she let me look for a moment as I paused taking in the sight of her... adding the words "Amazing! Beautiful!"

I started to move toward her but before I got very far, she was getting onto the bed.

She was on top of me, her tongue inside my mouth, mine inside hers. We were moving. She was on top.

I could feel both of our hearts as she pressed her lips against mine. Her arms around me squeezed tighter and tighter. I could feel her breasts against my chest.

She said, "I feel like I can't get close enough."

"I know," I said, returning to kissing her.

She was supporting herself somehow, just slightly elevated near our waists.

She paused for a moment as she felt me between her legs. "Oh, you're too close, sweetie," she said with a sigh of pleasure all the same.

This might be confusing but remember, Lynn can't get pregnant. She was telling me that she wanted to be a part of me when she said she can't get close enough, but despite that desire, she had to be sure that she didn't get pregnant.

She continued to move and wrap her arms closely around me. Her kisses were so desperate and passionate. She was hungry! So was I.

Our arms and bodies moved as I caressed Lynn and she squeezed me tighter. I had a habit of letting her squeeze maybe because I was concerned about her comfort.

Those words repeated in my mind. "I feel like I can't get close enough."

"I feel like I can't get close enough."

I dropped a bit and let go with a smile. She sensed what had happened.

She just smiled. "I came already," I said.

"That's okay."

She was still above me smiling.

I asked genuinely curious, "that was good for you?"

"Yeah. I am glad you felt good."

"But you didn't."

"Yes, I did," she said.

"Not really," I said... adding "You were so hungry for sex and you didn't have an orgasm, how can that be good enough?"

"We can do that another time, she said, adding, "I'm happy."

"Wow, so am I," I said with a chuckle.

I reflected upon how amazing it was that this was happening so often, nearly every day as if we had just gotten engaged... as if this was the "honeymoon phase" that I heard described somewhere – something that exists for one year.

The passion was so incredibly intense. You would think we had just gotten engaged a few months ago... or that we had not seen each other in a few weeks or months.

She got up to start the shower for us. I lay for a moment reflecting on things.

I felt a wave of serenity wash over me.

I was in love. Because she was in love with me. We were one.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you so much" I added.

I then smiled or laughed a bit.

"What?" she asked.

"I was thinking of that song by the Moody Blues and how I would like to sing it to you, but I can't... I can't sing."

"'Cause I love you,

yes, I love you,

oh, how I love you,

oh, how I love you.'

I like the way the singer sings those words like he is overcome with a feeling that MUST be cried out the same way you cannot contain yourself when we make love. But it's not the same thing, I can and would cry out those words in public. Then it repeats... those same words.

'Cause I love you,

yes, I love you,

Oh, how I love you,

oh, how I love you.'"

Then I said, "That's how I feel! I want to tell the whole world that I love Lynn."

I then added, "and you KNOW I would do just that, over and over, no matter how many times someone has heard it!

She just smiled.

I had the thought that I would have shouted these words out to the world not just after we made love but anytime. So often and in so many ways I felt these feelings of intense love for Lynn and an intense desire to tell everyone about it.

Shortly later that evening, I was still thinking about Lynn's happiness and what that meant for her.

I thought about how much I cared about her happiness, her dreams, and her aspirations. She wanted a master's in fine arts (MFA) – could I help with that?

What about a kiln so that she could bake her pottery at home? Maybe I could earn more money.