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“If you could photograph anything in the world, Jessica, what would you photograph right now?”
Amelia.“Flowers.”
“Have you thought of pursuing your love of photography again?”
I shake my head, not daring to think about that possibility.
“Even though you used to love it?”
“My husband took away a lot of things I loved. He smashed my camera because he thought I was having an affair. That was my punishment.”
“Tell me about your parents.”
I shift once more on the couch, suddenly having trouble getting comfortable, and I tell her about my mother and father and how they abandoned me.
Robyn continues to ask more questions. Some I can answer. Others leave me squirming. She continues jotting notes as we talk.
“Based on the DSM-Five Diagnostic Guidelines,” she says after we’ve been talking for what feels like almost an hour, “I agree that you do have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But I don’t believe it only stems from the last time you were attacked in prison. It’s not due to a single event, which is the definition of traditional PTSD. The years of abuse you faced from both your husband and what happened in prison led to what is now referred to as complex PTSD.
“I believe I can help you, Jessica. It won’t be easy. At times it might be emotionally painful, but you won’t be doing it alone. We can start with one-on-one sessions every two weeks.” She leans back in her chair. “If you get to a point where you’re comfortable enough to join a group session, I highly recommend you do. But I do understand your reasons for not wanting to open up to other people about what happened. So, what do you think? Would you like to continue seeing me, so I can help you move forward and reclaim the person you used to be?”
Do I? Yes, I want to reclaim who I was prior to meeting my husband.
But do I want to continue seeing Robyn when I know I’ll have to be honest with her and myself?
I chew my lip, contemplating the pros and cons. But in the end, one benefit outweighs all the negatives. This might be the thing that helps me return to being in my daughter’s life. “I would like that. Very much.”
She smiles, the curve of her lips still professional and kind. “Can you meet the same time next week since today was so I could assess if you have PTSD? After that, we’ll meet every two weeks.”
“Yes, that will work.”
“Good, and in the meantime, I have two assignments for you. The first one is to make a list of all those things you enjoy doing to relax, or maybe they’re things you might think you’ll find relaxing and want to try out.
“The second assignment is to make a list of the things you used to enjoy doing before you met your husband, and you would like to start doing again. It might turn out you aren’t as interested in them as you once were. That’s okay. We all grow and change when it comes to our interests. But that’s a starting point, at least. Can you do those two things for next Wednesday?”
“Yes, I can.” I’m starting yoga tonight, so hopefully I can add that to my list.
“Remember, the interests can be whatever you would like. They can be something as simple as going for a walk. Writing. Photography. Sex. Building cars. Gardening. Anything. Some things might work for one or the other list. And some might work for both. It’s up to you. And they don’t have to be activities you plan to do next week or next month. It might take many months or a year before you’re comfortable to try some of them.”
Out of everything she said, my thoughts home in on one word: sex.
In the beginning of my marriage, the sex had been great. It was also great during those times when my husband was loving and affectionate, when I’d thought things were improving and he really was sorry for what he’d said or done.
When I’d thought he was trying to do better.
But then it got to the point where I dreaded it when he came home because I knew what he wanted even if I didn’t.
I had once loved sex. Can I really add it to my lists?
ShouldI add sex to my lists?
34
JESSICA
April, Present Day
Maple Ridge
