Now
‘Let’s talk about shame,’ says Greg, in the calm, measured voice that accompanies much of my day.
Greg talking, me listening, or at least that’s the ambition.
More and more now I find that I do listen.
‘It is one of the most powerfully destructive emotions we have. If it festers over a long period of time then it can become akin to a mental illness. When you feel extreme shame over a particular incident – in your case the night with Jack, the night with Ling – what can happen is that is you begin to flagellate yourself, not just for the event but for the person you believe you are: vile, loathsome, irrevocably flawed. This thing you did, this mistake you made, becomes grossly magnified, distorted, twisted. This is when shame is at its most dangerous. This is when shame becomes self-hate.’
Violent word, violent emotion.
I know all about self-hate.
I gaze back at Greg, I offer him a small nod.
I think how he must have assimilated all the gory details Sam has passed onto him – the loss of you, the death of my mother, the sex with Jack – and diagnosed one combustible personal identity.
He’s bang on, of course.
The way I’ve hated myself is like an illness, a form of self-torture.
And why wouldn’t I? That night with Jack – fateful, tormenting, a crossroads I must travel over and over again without ever changing the outcome – destroyed two lives, yours and mine.
One bad decision, a lifetime of regret.
Greg tells me that those who feel this extreme shame are wont to disappear, to retreat, to hide away.
There have been many studies on it, apparently; he quotes a few.
Greg always does his homework.
‘You began this retreat, this withdrawal many years ago,’ he tells me.
‘And it’s my belief that your shame and your unfulfilled quest for forgiveness led to you shutting down entirely.
The minute you start talking about your shame, the moment you out it – do you understand me – then it begins to diminish.
Can you understand this, Catherine?
It’s vital for your recovery.
’
I want to look away but I force myself to concentrate on Greg’s face, on his concerned eyes, the colour somewhere between grey and blue.
Shame is an illness.
I am sick with shame.
To conquer it I must begin talking again.