The uncomfortable conversation of the imagined knowing

So apparently there’s this ‘Empty chair’ therapy, so my therapist told me. You put yourself in a room with the person you’re ‘dealing with’ (my words, not Gestalt’s) and imagine them, sat in a chair.  You talk to them, as though they’re there. Then you move to the chair and sit. And imagine what that person would say to you…

And there’s the rub.

That’s the biggest barrier I’ve faced. The toughest force to push against. The peak to climb. The ledge to leap. The hardest blog dialogue to write. The most honest, the most vulnerable, the most open conversation with both of them. Imagined.

And I want that moment. Trust me. I want to have that last conversation. I want it to be real, to happen, to not be imagined. But that’s not going to happen, so I have to imagine…if I could have that moment, that precious few moments, maybe to say my peace, to hear them say theirs. To exchange our final words – love, tears, guttural emotional, advice, recompense, just looking into each other’s eyes.

Their eyes. Their tears, as they look at me, as they look at all of us, and then fade.

And with no preparation and no rehearsal, what would I say?

I’ve imagined this final conversation, I’ve dreamt of it. But only to a point of starting the conversation.

And of all the moments I’ve dreamt of, of all the resurfaced memories strung together by my fragmented mind, my unfocussed brain, now closing on 2 years After, and sat now, reading Police reports in a chilly London hotel, I’ve got as far as this…

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