“Thanks Bonnie.” I offer, when she helps me shift the chairs back under their table after washing the floors. “How are you hanging in there honey?” she asks kindly. I know what she’s talking about. Ethan or whoever he is. But whoever he is, he’s off somewhere else. It’s been several weeks since we found out he’d absconded. A warrant is out for his arrest, despite them having no idea who he is; but they do now have his photo and his finger prints. And the Canadian police are after him to extradite him now too. Hopefully they’ll find him. Silas and I have navigated through counseling, sharing the financial burdens of coupledom, Halloween (don’t even get me started, he was so jittery by the end of the night, I thought he was going to strangle the next kid that knocked on our door); and finally, settling into a homeostasis of unity. My course of CBT has been successful in getting me through all of this. I have a monthly ongoing scheduled visits with a personal counselor, and I feel like I’m able to continue applying the skills I developed while at Harrington House. It’s pivotal because it means I can live outside of my bubble; that I’m not defined by my PTSD.
