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I think about that. “Yes. I shut down entirely. And I know that a relationship without warmth or intimacy is difficult to continue with. Eventually. I mean, he said I could take all the time I needed, but . . . I couldn’t . . . didn’t want to.”
Dave scribbles something down in his notebook. “Couples can have lasting relationships without physical intercourse. There are other ways to have intimacy. But I accept that for you, with regards to the physical relationship you had with Jonas,” he points out, “that it wasn’t working. Therefore, during those weeks that you remained together, sex wasn’t something you could contemplate.”
We only lasted two weeks before I decided to break things off. I’ve enjoyed concentrating on myself in the weeks that followed. About what I want going forwards. But something did feel odd to me, so I say, “No, strangely, it felt traitorous.”
“To yourself?”
“Yes. That I might be betraying myself, but I couldn’t remember if I would be.”
“You withdrew emotionally and physically,” he leads, his pen hovering over his pad. “For many, emotion is required in order to be physical.”
I nod because that makes sense. “I didn’t feel connected to him, but what if something physical was what I needed?” The silence stretches. “What do you think?”
“I’m interested to know what you think.”
“Oh, well I don’t want to try with Jonas,” I point out as Dave watches me closely. And then it dawns on me what he’s implying. “Are you saying I should meet someone else?” A couple of months ago the thought of exploring something new would be laughable, but now, the prospect of a fledging relationship feels more attainable.
“Perhaps someone who doesn’t have the history you share with Jonas. Who isn’t emotionally entangled the way you and Jonas were or are.”
I’m uncertain how I could be physical with someone and keep that from them. How would I explain my reluctance to be intimate? And if things did progress, it would feel duplicitous to hide a huge part of my backstory, especially if it became something longer-term. “Are you telling me to date?”
“I’m nottellingyou anything. I’m probing options, seeing where you’re comfortable, and what’s acceptable to you right now.”
I settle into the back of the armchair and study the leaves of the new plant. I’ve no idea what genus it is, but it’s pretty and healthy-looking. It makes me wonder if I’m more like the retired (dead) plant than this new, shiny green one. “It feels possible,” I reply, “at some stage.”
Dave cocks his head. “A small step in that direction would be a good test.”
“Like?”
“Step outside of your comfort zone and strike up a conversation with a man you don’t know.”
Instantly, I dismiss the small encounter with the runner and the dog, but I’ll keep that in my back pocket if Dave pushes me on this next week.
I saidMorning.In my book, that counts. But I feel ready to say more than that. To actuallytalk.I want to make new connections, to find faith in humanity again. The quiet life I’ve resigned myself to has me itching to escape my own skin. Finding my inner, confident self is paramount.
“You explained that you couldn’t go back to the way you were with Jonas,” Dave begins. “And therefore it didn’t feel right for you. A new relationship, while probably turning intimate at some stage, doesn’t start that way. Slowly, you can build towards something that works for you and a new partner—if that’s what you want.” He pauses, studying me. “Let’s leave that discussion for now. You can give it some consideration for our next session. I just want to probe a bit more,” he says, glancing at his handwritten notes, “what you meant by beingtraitorous.”
Casting my thoughts backwards, I tell him, “I felt disconnected. It didn’t feel right.”
“Nothing else that was troubling you?”
I try and remember what I was thinking, but it’s gone. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
Dave offers a small smile. “That’s okay. Maybe that will cycle back.” He taps his pen on the book as he studies me. “What about this voice?” He consults his paperwork though he doesn’t need to; unlike me, Dave’s memory is spectacular. “You mentioned this in our second session. You’d heard it for the first time two days prior.”
I nod. “I told my liaison officer—Paula.”
For a time, I had regular sessions with the police, recounting everything I could about my abduction. Telling someone you can’t remember what happened to you for eight days straight was pretty pointless. Where was I? What happened to me? What was I forced to endure? It doesn’t bear thinking about, and that’s the problem—I can’t bear to remember. Hypnosis didn’t work and I don’t want to try again.
Going forwards, I only need to contact Paula if I have further information, though all of my therapists send a summary report of my sessions. I have a feeling Dave will be my last chance. Accessing my memory is like throwing good money after bad, and the cognitive processing therapy didn’t help.
“It’s hard to tell the police about a melody I can’t really remember,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Have you heard it recently?”
“Every few days, and again this morning.”
“You described the voice as terrifying. But the second time you felt you might be wrong, that it was warmer. More comforting. Does that impression still stand?”
