Hoping that you’re wrong
While she talks my mind is fizzing. I’m anxious, wanting her to say it once and for all, not wanting her to say it at all. Every week she reels off more of the list of potential adult sequelae of childhood sexual abuse (lack of early memory, self-harm, bulimia, drug and alcohol stuff, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder-like symptoms, and so on endlessly). Partly, I want her to cut to the chase. Partly, I hope I’m on the wrong chase.