Some time ago I went through a strong shock. I tried to coerce sex is very unpleasant for me man. I knew that if his social status and social position, he will not rape me, and just watching the situation, slightly disatsiirovavshis. Of course, I'm not the first time suggested that sex, which I was not needed. But first it was so intrusive and unpleasant. By force of circumstances I found myself in his office, and for a time was forced to listen to his scabrous compliments and indecent proposals. Vulgarity expressions that man scratched my writer's ear, but a creative curiosity forced me to stand idle and watch. At one point I even felt his hands on his body, and a wave of nausea rolled up to his throat. I broke off contact and call a taxi.

In the taxi I continued to feel sick, and I'm surprised their feelings. Where do they have? After all, I psychologist! Professional! Where are my defensive units, where the circle of power? Home even worse. I realized that I was still raped - mentally, into the brain. All these scabrous jokes climbed out of my ears - my auditory canal was injured. Overweight fat nasty body loomed before my eyes - my visual channel was clogged. Sweaty hands still wandered around my knees - kinestetika struck up in a knot. I called my therapist, and he put me in the bath: "Take off your clothes and throw it in the washing machine while she dive into the bathtub - the other tools available now, no. Memories to wash away. " But it did not help. I will still be a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And then I remembered that any boundary state of the resource that depression is not less strength and energy than in moments of creativity, the main thing - to direct this energy in the right direction. How can I change the past? " I decided to chop off, cut off his hand, greedily grabbing my body . Axe Raskolnikov lay on the table - it was a pen. I sat down to write the story. Art. For the entertainment of readers - on the one hand, for resuscitating, reincarnation itself (which is much more important!) - On the other.

So I set myself the diagnosis, prescription, and cooked over a fire of my mental disorder therapeutic metaphor that helped me survive the consequences of the ill-fated meeting. My metaphor is quite different from the diaries. After all, I tried to work with the psyche than on the surface, but on a deeper level. I isolate the sign of association, language patterns, I decided to recode their experiences, to add light in the picture, to rewrite history and make it known to me way. The very next day the story of my "rape" I told you in colors and with a laugh.