Amy puts her shoes back on,
grabs her bag and coat
and left with a smile
and a cheery wave
and a “see you next week!”
Somehow I manage to wave back
and give an exhausted grimace
before my legs pull me up the stairs
two at a time
and I collapse into bed,
wrapping myself up
nice and tight
and safe and warm
in the blanket Rosie gave me
for comfort and protection.

Time ticks by and
I am not sure when I started crying
but I know I cannot stop
and soon the quiet tears turn into
wrenching sobs that hurt my whole body
as the last six and a half years
are pulled up to the surface
to be relived in glorious high definition.
We did not even talk about the heavy stuff –
we only decided on our focus for the sessions
(my low self-esteem)
but we got the whisper of a hair away
from talking about the abuse
and that was enough for me.

I turn my phone off
and I let the emotions
drag me under
and I let all the memories
play fullscreen
and I give them my undivided attention.

“What’s your biggest belief about yourself?”
she asked me.

“That I am difficult to love.
That I am not worthy of love.”

“Why do you think those things?”

“Because they’re true.”

I still believe them now.