I am sitting in a social worker’s office. It’s my first therapy session. I don’t know what I will say. All I know is that I will say quite a lot of things I’ve never wanted to tell anybody ever before.

People think that troops in the military have to fight the ultimate battle, that they face the worst kind of horrors in human history. I hear those kinds of sentiments all the time because I live with a vet who talks this way when he visits me, but I can honestly say that it takes a whole new level of courage to open up to a mental health professional, after holding all of the after-effects of abuse and neglect by my mother and sexual abuse and rape.

There are a lot of misconceptions about the therapeutic process—even educated people still mix up the terms “psychiatrist” and “psychologist”. Many believe that you go to therapy to get fixed, to therapy to get fixed, to mend those broken shards inside of you.

I am wondering, as I sit here in this little room, just how I will be fixed. Books and movies tell me that I am supposed to be told by the professional how I should feel, and why I should feel the way that I feel. I am extremely nervous, because I’ve never opened up to a professional about any of lasting remnants of the abuse that still impacts my life.

I am here because it seems right, however. Since my friend John had not spent any time with me since I experienced a recent shocking event, only calling and emailing me from a distance to see how I was picking myself up after this latest trauma.

I wanted John to visit me in our supportive living facility for the blind like he used to and console me, make me laugh with tales of his army exploits, and allow my appreciation for his presence to just linger as we quietly held hands in my apartment talking about all sorts of things, other than things that were happening to me. This connection was the one thing that made me think all would right itself eventually.

When John first became distant, I had asked him to visit me. I then revealed how comfortable his presence and the physical contact made me feel. I shared how I also looked forward to his tales and opinions on current events and updates on his life. I was amazed that an older, straight army man would be so emotionally and physically open with a gay emotional millennial like me. I thought what we had was strong, so I was shocked to discover that it could vanish all in a split second. I thought I did something wrong. I also needed someone to talk to about everything.