Letting go is knowing that there is a future.

let goLunch. I am sat at my desk staring at the computer screen. I click into Google. I try to type but my hands just don’t want to work properly. I can feel them shaking. I feel sick. I know that I am making the right choice but it doesn’t make it any easier. Eurgh. I think I am going to throw up.

Finally I am managing to type the words “Counselling Directory” into Google just like my Doctor suggested. Links and sites appear. My tummy is doing somersaults. I click on the site related to the area I live in. I feel myself becoming overwhelmed as a huge directory appears with profiles about each therapist. I can do this.

I can feel myself getting into Manager Mode. I can do this. I just have to organise the list my own way, in a way I feel comfortable processing. I organise things every day, this should be easy! First things first. I get rid of all the men on the list. I know there is no way I will be able to see a male therapist. I shudder as the thought of being alone in a room with a male therapist sends shivers up my spine. I work my way through the list and delete all the male profiles.

Next, I delete all the older ladies profiles from my list I know I won’t be able to relate to an older therapist. I have tried before. I don’t know why I can’t, I just can’t. Maybe there is something wrong with me? Don’t get side tracked I tell myself, you are doing well. Stay focussed.

I delete any profiles that are too far for me to travel. I definitely do not want to travel far after a therapy session. This leaves me with a much smaller list. I feel the knots in my tummy ease a little.

I finally narrow down the list to two. I pick the one I like the look of most. She has a kind face. I note down her contact details listed on her profile. I close the link down and delete the browser history. I do not want anyone at work to see that I have been looking up therapists; they will think I am crazy!

I know there is no way I can phone this lady. I won’t be able to get my words out. What would I even say? The knots in my tummy are back. Don’t panic. I can email her.

I log into my email account, type in her email address and take a deep breath as I start to type. I introduce myself and briefly outline my history. Depression, Anxiety… I pause, I do not want to write the next bit but I know she needs to know so she can decide if she can help me… I start typing again… “My Depression and Anxiety are caused from being sexually abused by my stepfather from the age of 11 into early adulthood and I think I need some help to finally face it”

I feel sick. Even writing it down makes me feel scared, embarrassed and ashamed. I finish the email and add in all my contact details asking her to contact me if she thinks she can see me for an assessment. I sit for a while staring at the screen. I can’t seem to press the send button. My hand is shaking. If I do this then it means this is real. It means it happened. It means I cannot cope with this on my own anymore. That I need help.

This is real,I think to myself. The abuse did happen. I can’t cope on my own anymore. I do need help. I have to face this. I have to try to let go.

Holding on is believing that there is only a past; letting go is knowing there is a future.

I hit send.

Thanks for reading.

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