After T's recovery from a stroke last year, I decided to get serious about therapy before he had the next one. I had already killed him off a thousand times in my head for abandoning me to his illness. "How could you do this to me," I wailed into my pillow. It seems logic goes amiss in such circumstances.

In my haste to speed up therapy I tried shoving aside what I thought was irrelevant to it. I didn't want to talk about work or any other today stuff going on with me. It didn't work. All I ended up doing was walking into walls (literally) from holding down suppressed anger that needed venting.

Emotion never listens to logic.


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