By Jess Charle
“That’s not my Blake.”
Dr. Feldstein looked at me over the top of his glasses. His voice was deep and gravely, “I understand why you see Blake as an imposter. It is how your brain is coping with such a traumatic event.” He paused, looking at me with concern.
I shook my head, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. He continued, “PTSD can surface in many different ways. Dissociation is normal but unhealthy. To truly heal we need you to once again see Blake as your partner. You must face your trauma to overcome it. Then we can work on trying to rebuild your marriage.”
“This isn’t PTSD. I don’t know who that is, but that is NOT my Blake.” My voice was quivering with the sobs I was desperately holding back.
“Your brain is unable to process it but you can’t fight it Marie. You and your family were in a car accident. Blake was driving. Your son didn’t make it. It is completely understandable that you’re having difficulty forgiving, but you need to accept that that man is your husband.”
I eyed the wooden door picturing my so-called husband sitting in the lobby right outside, waiting for my session to end.
“That’s the thing doctor.” I said, lowering my voice. Dr. Feldstein leaned towards me. “Blake was my wife.”
Jess Charle 