Page 44 of Camp Bliss
Trina put me at ease immediately. Maybe it’s the soft neutral tones visible in the room around her. The plush chair she’s in is striped in bands of coffee milk and sand. She’s wearing what looks like a linen blouse, and even though I can’t see them, I can’t help but imagine that she’s got on a pair of linen palazzo pants. Like she just went for a sunset walk on the beach before logging on with me. Her wheat-colored hair falls to her shoulders, and the only contrast to this soothing color palette is the black square-framed glasses that sit on her face.
Even through the camera, it’s impossible not to look her in the eye.
And that’s a relief, because I sure as hell could not look Zach in the eye after it was clear that Josh was gone.
“It’s just so humiliating,” I croak.
I’ve stopped crying, but my voice is raw. Hell, everything is raw.
Trina nods, a compassionate frown knotting behind those glasses. “Shame is what we feel when someone rejects us. Even though his decision is one hundred percent about him, your feelings are only natural. This kind of betrayal can shake us to our core.”
The way she saysusmakes breathing deeper possible.
I’m not the first person to be abandoned like this. To be, let’s face it, dumped without a word.
My eyes sting, but I blink the rising tears away. I don’twantto cry anymore.
Trina doesn’t miss it.
“Let the tears come, Greta,” she says softly.
I shrug lamely. “But I never cry.” The words emerge as nothing but a wet squeak. For someone who never cries, I’m great at it.
“Why not?” The question is spoken so gently that my eyes just fill all over again. “Tears are healing. They are helping you transition from the way you thought things were to the way they really are.”
I feel strangled, but I push the words through. “I’m tired of crying.”
Her smile is gentle. “You’re tired offeeling.”
A wet laugh escapes me. She’s got that right.
“But, right now, feeling and being patient with your feelings is the best you can do. Remember that you are in crisis.” She sits forward, moving closer to the camera. It almost feels like we are in the same room.“Crisisis Greek forturning point.You are at a turning point, Greta. And my best advice for you is to keep letting yourself feel. Because it’s easy to get confused at a time like this and try to numb the pain with a lot of other distractions.”
I know this. As a professional, I know this. But a distraction would be pretty fucking great right about now.
“Work. Exercise. Food. Alcohol. Other relationships. You name it. People turn to these to escape the grief, the anger, and the fear, and they squander the gifts of wisdom that a crisis like this has to offer.”
I frown. “Wisdom?”
Trina’s smile is serene. “Oh, yes. You are about to learn a lot about yourself, Greta.”
I huff out a breath. “That’s not scary at all,” I deadpan.
She chuckles, and then her gaze shifts to the right. “We’re almost out of time, but I want to give you a sort of homework assignment. Do you have something to write on?”
I nod, reaching for my phone before opening the notes app.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
“I want you to journal every morning and every evening. Write down your emotions. Name the feelings that came up that day. Write down what you dreamed about that night. You’ll be tempted to intellectualize, to focus on the thoughts you ascribe and the story you tell yourself, but try to name the emotions and how experiencing them manifests in your body. Tightness. Heat. Racing pulse, that sort of thing.”
I tap out notes, nodding.
“This will help you heighten your awareness of your feelings, process them, move through them—cry if you need to—” The look she gives me through the camera tells me I’m guaranteed more crying. “And ultimately heal. And the more you do this, the more you’ll be able to trust yourself.”
My gaze snaps up from my phone. A cold sweat needles my temples.
Trust myself?
