MEMOIR
How I Found Out I’ve Been Absent For Most Of My Life
Taking back control from chronic PTSD and dissociation
The therapist I’ve been working with recently is into new-age practices. Her office looks more like an art studio, awash with bright colors and a definite hippie vibe. She even has a small table off to the side where there are coloring books with pencils and crayons on top. I haven’t had the desire to ask to use them yet.
Honestly, the first time I saw her as a patient, I wasn’t sure what to think. I’ve always been intrigued by positive affirmations, meditation, yoga and the like, but I doubted that any of it would work for me long term, especially with my crippling anxiety that made it impossible to sit still for more than a minute.
The therapist said her name was Christine. She actually looked a lot like her office—vibrant and expressive. She dressed like one of those bell-bottomed, paisley-bloused girls of the 1970s with long, curly Stevie Nicks hair. She completely fit the tone in the room, and her gentle voice had me leaning toward her to hear what she was saying, creating some sense of intimacy.
I’d been in the worst kind of funk for the longest time, maybe even years. Panic attacks plagued me every morning and rendered me paralyzed on my couch…
