Session One - Screening
31.07.11, 9:57 am

I'm going to be writing in some detail about my CBT sessions for the next 10-12 weeks, as getting it all out of my head and into words will definitely help my poor brain. It might get quite intense, and though I can't say for definite, I will try to keep these entries open to you guys. However, the entries probably won't be particularly fun, so if you want to skip the depressing stuff then come back in September, where hopefully everything will have returned to normal.

Also, you never know � I might write the odd upbeat entry in-between the sessions. Probably won't though, to be honest, knowing what a lazy pudding I am.

Session One � Screening

I tell my line manager that I have a doctors appointment at 4pm, and at 3:30pm I take a beta-blocker because I am tense and don't want to deal with the inevitable palpitations. I then walk the mile to the CBT place, sign in, meet the therapist and go upstairs to his office.

I'm going to call my therapist Huckleberry, which is obviously not his real name. Huckleberry's office has two easy chairs, a round side-table, a desk in the corner and a filing cabinet. Unlike the hideous counselling room that I frequented at university, it does not smell of incense and does not have a huge box of tissues within easy reach. This is a good sign. We both sit down; initially I fold my arms, then quickly unfold them as I don't want to appear defensive.

Huckleberry firstly asks me what my thoughts about CBT have been after our phone conversation the following evening. 'I think my main worry is that CBT won't entirely help,' I say. 'I have this acute problem focussed around this ectopic heartbeat, but I know that it comes from an emotional issue from my past, so I don't know if CBT will really work because if we just fix the acute bit then it will only work for a while because the emotional problem is still there.' Huckleberry says that at the end of the session we can talk about the ways we're going to try and fix things, and that I don't have to do the CBT if I don't want to.

'Okay,' says Huckleberry. 'I think it's time for you to tell me what you think the problem is and where it stems from.' And then he picks up his pen and looks at me expectantly.

'Right,' I say, mentally trying to pull all the strands of the problem together so that it makes a cohesive story. 'I'll � I'll just start talking, then?' Huckleberry nods.

I start by talking about my mum's death; it's easy because I make it very factual and because I have practised it in my head. When I get to the part about how the family attitude to the death was to very much buckle down and get on with it, and how I only missed one day of school after it, Huckleberry makes a noise � I can tell he's horrified but he covers it well.

I then go on to talk about Bernie; again, this is relatively easy, although it aches a little when I talk about the house she and my dad were building together, and how they were going to marry. I don't linger on the details of the trips to the ICU, and thankfully Huckleberry doesn't push for how it felt. Not yet, anyway.

And then I talk about my ectopic heartbeat, and the problems that I've had with it and the medical testing that I've gone through. Spelling out how the ectopic heartbeat is nothing to worry about is, as always, hugely frustrating because I am not an idiot: I know how all the pieces connect up but I can't rewire my brain. Which is obviously why I am here.

'What is it that worries you about having an extra beat?' asks Huckleberry.

'That I'll get lots of them,' I reply.

'So what?' He shrugs. 'Who cares?'

'Well, then I might slip into an arrhythmia and die.' I don't want to say the next words but force them out anyway, because Mel told me earlier on the phone that I need to be as open and honest as possible, 'I'm really afraid of sudden death. I'm afraid of death in general, to be honest. I don't believe in God so I don't believe anything comes next, and that's really scary.'

We discuss my fear of sudden death. It's all very simple and paint-by-numbers: my mum's death was sudden (to me, at least), Bernie's death was sudden, I now worry that the same will happen to me and focus that worry on the ectopic heartbeat. I haven't really spoken about my death fear with anyone but it's relatively easy with Huckleberry � he doesn't know me from Adam, after all.

Finally, I talk about how I find it incredibly difficult to talk about my mum, even after all this time. This is the hardest part; I can feel my chest getting tight and force myself not to cry.

'Why do you think you do this?' asks Huckleberry, writing furiously.

'I think I've just gotten so used to it � in the early days I didn't speak about her because I didn't want to unlock all of the horrible feelings, and then I just carried on not speaking about her. And I know that it must be so frustrating for my friends as well, because there's this part of me that they don't really know anything about. And it makes me angry at myself, because I should be telling everyone about her because she was so wonderful.' My voice breaks and I stop.

'There's definitely something interesting going on there, and we need to work to unlock it,' says Huckleberry. I try to look as though this idea pleases me, rather than making me want to head to the nearest pub.

My session was supposed to last for 50 minutes and I have talked for 90. Huckleberry thinks that my problems are suitable for CBT, at least in part, and that CBT would suit my personality. He warns me that CBT is one of the most gruelling psychotherapies that there is, and that I am likely to feel worse before I feel better. This sounds horrible, but I agree to it nonetheless.

Before the CBT sessions I will have 3 assessment sessions, starting next Thursday. We shake hands and I leave the building. I then play The Chemical Brothers on my iPod as loudly as I can stand and walk home.

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