make him less overprotective. My brother, Brett, said he’s probably got PTSD.”
“Chris, how do you feel about Bria discussing this with her brother?”
“I’m okay with it. I told Brett and the rest of the band Saturday night.”
“What did you tell them?”
“About Abby and the baby. No details, just generalizations.”
Dr. Hardy makes notes. “That’s good progress. Talking about it with those close to you is a big part of recovery.” She looks at Bria. “I’m not sure Chris has PTSD, however.”
“He doesn’t?”
“He tells me he seldom has nightmares about them anymore. As with any trauma, it’s normal to experience intrusive memories, flashbacks and bad dreams after the event, but that decreases over time. What seems to be happening with Chris is that, like most people, he experienced a combination of rage and grief, along with feeling powerless. Those emotions are difficult to overcome, particularly for men.”
“And that’s not PTSD?”
“I don’t believe so. Chris is dealing with behavioral patterns that are rooted in the trauma he experienced. He told me about the overprotective behavior that led to your leaving him and the band. This behavior is born of his belief that the world is a dangerous place, and no one can be trusted. His confrontational response suggests an increase of aggression toward others, which is another trauma-based behavioral feature.”
Bria turns to me. “Does that mean you don’t trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.”
“He does but he doesn’t,” Dr. Hardy says. “For the most part, he doesn’t trust other men, but on some level he doesn’t trust you to take care of yourself either.”
Bria sighs, nodding. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“Chris can’t control everything and that leads to a lack of trust in himself.”
“So what can we do?” Bria asks. “What can I do?”
“A lot of things. We will work on increasing his feelings of safety and security by establishing structures and routines to make his days seem more secure and predictable. This can make him feel more in control. He can also spend time doing activities he likes and excels at, improving self-confidence.”
Bria smiles. “He already does that. The structure thing I’m not so sure of. We’re in a band. Our schedule changes weekly, sometimes daily. The biggest trigger, I’d guess you’d call it, is when men recognize me and want to chat. How can we control that without quitting the band?”
Dr. Hardy nods thoughtfully. “That certainly makes things more difficult but not impossible. Chris, you say you’re close with your bandmates. That’s good. Spending time with people you trust is important. We’ll work on reviewing your traumatic event and exploring the disoriented thinking that resulted from it. You may have unresolved feelings of guilt over their deaths. You may even still be angry at Abby for leaving.”
“Angry at Abby?” Bria says. “Why would he be angry with her? It wasn’t her fault.”
“It’s perfectly natural to be angry at people who have died and left us. On a deep, unconscious level, we may even blame them for vanishing from our lives.”
Bria looks sad.
“What is it?” Dr. Hardy asks.
“Sometimes I still get mad at my mom,” she says. “She died when I was little. I don’t even remember her, but I’m embarrassed to say I often get angry at her for making me grow up without a mother.”
Dr. Hardy offers a sympathetic smile. “It’s normal to feel angry. Don’t beat yourself up about how you feel. It’s part of the process.”
“So he needs to forgive Abby for leaving him?”
“Perhaps. Chris, would you like to share what you’ve been doing as part of that process?”
Dr. Hardy asked me to bring my notebook to appointments, since my feelings are bottled up inside it. “I’ve been writing one song for a long time, and I finally finished it yesterday.”
Dr. Hardy looks pleased. “That’s wonderful. You must feel relieved to have finished it after all this time.”
“I wanted to finish it before …” I look at the calendar on the wall.
She says, “Would you like to tell Bria what tomorrow is?”
“It’s Abby’s birthday.” I swallow. “She would have been twenty-five.”
Bria’s eyes fill with tears. “That’s also the day they found them.”
I nod.
“I know the song is intensely private,” the doctor says, “and we’ll respect your decision if you choose not to, but it might help to share the song with Bria. It could help her understand your grief, your helplessness.”
I stare at the notebook.
“You don’t have to,” Bria says to me. “I know how uncomfortable that can be.”
Seconds of silence—maybe minutes—pass. “You can read it.” I