10 March 2018

"My name is Aaron Hotchner, and I'm in a safe place. I can say whatever I need to say. My feelings are important. My anger is normal. My fear is to be expected. My recovery is in my own hands."

This is the way you told me to start every journal entry. You said it's meant to validate my emotions, to give me permission to feel however the hell I'm feeling at any given moment. It's... difficult. I'm not a terribly open person.

And I'm not really sure how to start.

I remember that I'm not allowed to edit or change things, once I've written them. I'm to let my thoughts flow, uninterrupted, without changing or lessening them, without padding the emotional impact.

"Just say what you feel, Aaron," you said.

Your name is Loretta, and you urge me to call you that. I know you're highly regarded in your field; you worked hard to earn the title "Doctor". I prefer to call you "Dr. Donnegan", because I have great respect for you, but you always give me this almost sad smile every time, like I'm disappointing you.

"Let's not stand on ceremony, Aaron. In this room," and you sweep your right hand in a half circle, just in case I'm not sure which room you're indicating, and this makes me laugh a little. Maybe it's because this intimacy makes me nervous.

"In this room, I'm just 'Loretta'," and here you always place the fingertips of both hands on either side of your solar plexus, as if I'm confused which one of us is Loretta., and then you face both hands, palms outward, toward me, "And you're 'Aaron'."

You give a gentle little smile here, not condescendingly, because you really do want to help. I look down at my own hands, which are almost always clenched in my lap, and I feel a little ashamed, because I need your help. And that's why I'm sticking this out, as difficult as it may be.

You're right. I should have done this earlier. Far earlier. Probably about ten years earlier. But work and my marriage and Jack, and everything... I'm not at the top of my own priority list. I never have been.

But I'm doing it now, and I suppose it's better late than never, right?

Three times a week, I'll have to sit and write a journal entry. I think it's going to be more difficult than all the post-case paperwork I used to do. But I hope I have a little leeway with you, Dr. Donnegan, that I didn't have with my former director, Erin Strauss. I can throw in a funny story here and there, maybe.

Or if I want to go on some meandering soul-searching jag, that's okay, too, I suppose. I wonder what would have happened if I included a few daily anecdotes in my reports to my boss? Or told her what I had for lunch? Or how a certain color makes me feel?

That's why this journal exercise is so much harder. It's not about a case, or a crime, or a murder.

It has to be about me.

And I'm not very comfortable with that.

So I hope I can count this introductory entry as a Step One. I realize that I have a lot of steps to take. And I'll admit that I changed a thing or two, but I didn't take anything out. But thank you in advance for allowing me to try this less-traditional method. I can stop and walk away, think it through and then come back and finish my thought, without "running the meter", as you said.

I think that's about it for tonight, though.

Have a nice evening, Dr. Donnegan.

- Aaron