"Okay, Simon, one last time. Just follow the ball with your eyes. Keep the image in your head."

"Yeah." Simon watched the little blue ball bouncing slowly from one edge of the ipad to another. It was like one of those screen savers he'd gotten mesmerized by as a kid. Honestly, he was bored with the whole thing. He'd been annoyed at first, ready to fight when the guy was rude, and then depressed about people not being able to see him when he went out. He'd felt like he wasn't worth being noticed anymore, felt it deep in his stomach like a punch to the gut. But after eight rounds of trying to feel like shit while watching the most mind-numbing game of pinball ever, he didn't have any shit left to feel about some random asshole who bumped into him.

"All right. Last time again. Sit for a moment and let your thoughts go blank. Don't try to think about anything in particular."

Simon's eyes drifted away from the screen. It was almost lunch time. There was a roast chicken in the fridge . . .

"What comes to mind?"

Simon blinked and looked back at the screen.

"I'm hungry," he said honestly.

"Yeah? If you went back to the chip shop for lunch, would you be worried about the same thing happening?"

"What?" Had it been yesterday? It felt like it'd happened last month. "No, of course not."

"You were an hour ago."

Simon frowned. She was right.

"On a scale of zero to ten, how distressing is the incident to recall, right now?"

"Zero, I guess," Simon said. "One if I really tried."

"Do you remember the positive belief you identified at the beginning of this session?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm pretty good in fight."

As their time together wound down, she reminded him to keep a small list of anything relating to what he'd worked on that day that came up between sessions, positive or negative. Thoughts, sensations, emotions, patterns of behavior. Anything from 'the next day I felt awful about it again and couldn't stop,' to 'I forgot about it until you reminded me just now. Still don't care.'

For all that he wasn't particularly distressed, Simon was still relieved when he got to say goodbye and power down the ipad. He felt like he'd just run a marathon only using his internal organs, and also like he'd like to go for a real run with his legs, or at least do some practice swings with a good sword.

But maybe after lunch.

Baz poked his head in from where he'd been lurking out of sight, trying not to eavesdrop. "Well? Did you do it?"

Simon tilted his head, nonplussed. "Yeah?"

"And?" Baz demanded.

"And what? I don't feel worse, if that's what you're asking."

"Is that it, then?"

"What were you expecting, fireworks?"

Baz glared at him.

"Damn," he said finally. "How anticlimactic."

I'm back. See here more on EMDR: what-is-emdr/