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My therapist asked me to start writing a journal, or maybe a recollection of past events, whatever I thought was best. A few years ago I would’ve thought that writing down my feelings and thoughts was pointless, as would be seeing a therapist in the first place. I thought I got a handle on things on my own, you know, doing the macho act of not asking for outside help.
I guess things changed when I saw an old friend a month ago, and every explanation and excuse I had come up with and made into my personal reality was thrown out the window. There was a sense of vindication after I left that friend’s house, but with it came a dreaded truth. I’ve never told this story to anyone outside of my childhood friends, and through my accounts to the local police, who had me repeat it, over and over. But only one of us was actually there when it happened, the only one who really saw it. (Read more...)