He told me all about ‘the evil time machine’. He told me in the way a man long accustomed to wrestling down tears tells you something. When he’d fought down his heartache enough to speak, he spoke very quickly, as if desperate to get it all out before he was overcome.<\/p>\n
“I was there, in that kitchen. Thirty five years just dropped away, like armour come loose, leaving me naked and weak. University, my first job, my marriage, my adulthood, all gone, because I was now in the past. I was 12; home from school, on that day. I saw it as if I was right there again, not a memory, a reliving.<\/em><\/p>\n
The second I saw my mum hanging there, I knew she was dead. That second, the longest and the shortest of my life. That second, that stretched out into so many years of depression and pain. I tried and tried to get her down, I started screaming, just as I had when I was 12, I couldn’t stop crying. It’s no good. I can’t forget, I just can’t, even after all this time!”<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n
Colin was one of several clients I’ve met over the years who’d been deeply traumatized from the horror of discovering the body of a loved one after suicide.<\/p>\n
And what was this ‘time machine’ of which he spoke?<\/p>\n
Prefer to watch instead?<\/h3>\n