The sessions I had with the therapist were strange to start with. Never in my life had I ever spoken so openly to anyone about me.
She listened and showed only empathy. Occasionally asking questions that took me in a parallel direction but allowed my concentration to pick up on buried experiences in depths of my mind. I was never questioned in a way that appeared to apportion blame or cast doubt
I’ll say now, at every session I cried. I did not feel embarrassed at all, and not any better for doing so either. Even now the closest I can get to for trigger moments is my total disgust with myself for my inability in times of need not to be able help others.
I could not help at the train crash or the suicide, so I became a victim of circumstance; which I could not accept but also could not reduce the anguish I felt.
I fear blood. I pass out and end up having to receive help.
So a double hit for my emotions and feelings: can’t help BUT BUT BUT I must.
Our discussion first had to workout which was my biggest concern, the train crash or the suicide.
Both events were as vivid today as if it had happened yesterday. I had had longer to stew on the train accident and it was this event that gave me the greatest torment.