From the author: Recently I was asked: “How do I understand that I need psychotherapy?” The answer was not long in coming. I remembered a graphic story. I am sharing with the consent of the heroine, the client. People go to personal therapy for various reasons. Some want to understand what is best for them to do, make an important decision, understand themselves, change their internal attitudes and character traits. Others are looking for help and support in a state of crisis, experiencing divorce or the loss of a loved one. But it happens that the pain of past years, distant, long-forgotten events appears out of nowhere and opens up mental wounds, again and again returning to where it still hurts. The story of Olga, 39 years old. “I am a fan of the works of Irvin Yalom. Every vacation, wherever I spend it, I take his book with me. Reading stories written by I. Yalom gives me great pleasure. Today I am reading a small, but very strong and difficult story, “Journey with Hola,” for some reason difficult for me. This story, like no other of the many I have read, evoked a strange, ambiguous emotional response. The description of life, the struggle with death, or not, not the struggle, but the acceptance of my fatal illness and the inevitable death of the main character Paula, caused me confusion, pain, a storm of emotions. What is this? Why does it hurt me so much? I read the lines of the story, Irwin’s thoughts, and between the lines my brain, my imagination draws images. I, plunging into the abyss of pain, despair, hopelessness and regret. Tears flow in hot streams from my eyes covered with sunglasses. Secretly from those around me, I brush away my tears. Emotions wash over me like a wave. What is this? Compassion, empathy for those who are trapped by a terrible, merciless disease. A disease that has no age, gender, and does not stop at damage to one organ. Diseases with the terrible name “cancer” in an incurable terminal stage? Or is it admiration for people, psychologists who strive to support, help, be close to those whom friends and loved ones have turned away from, not wanting to come into contact with pain, approach death, look into the eyes of a fading life, be with those whom doctors have abandoned? Could I, would I find the strength to be useful and not burn out next to someone who is doomed? There is no answer, only mental torment, confusion of thoughts, feelings and a pressing, aching melancholy. Faces emerge in my memory. The faces of those who are no longer in the world of the living: beloved father-in-law, godmother, friend, maternal uncle, parents’ neighbors, and once my neighbors, married couple Irina and Boris. Everyone was swallowed up by a cold, heart-chilling darkness. The disease mercilessly burst into their lives and doomed them to excruciating suffering, pain, despair and disappointment, fear for those around them, the inability to be with those whom you love more than life itself. The realization that you will not see your child grow up, graduate from school, Institute, you won’t be able to hug, press to your chest in moments of sorrow, adversity, fear for those who are left without you gives you the strength to live, to live in spite of everything. Paula. I see the image of this woman, her body tormented by illness and surgical interventions. A beautiful, wide smile, a strong spirit, a desire to help those who, like her, find themselves in the tenacious claws of death, her desire and ability to be a mentor, a guide, evokes a feeling of deep respect and gratitude. Knowing that there are people like Paula in the world, you understand that you don’t live, but live, putting it off “for later,” looking at the opinions of others, fearing judgment and fear of doing the wrong thing. The story is read to the end. I close the book and put it on the chaise lounge next to me. A breath of sea air. Everything is fine, but for some reason it hurts and feels heavy in my chest. Inhale again, exhale. As if “automatically” I rise from the sun lounger and go to the sea. Warm sun, soft, slightly yellowish sand creaks underfoot. I enter clear water. Waves hit the body. I take it step by step, moving further and further from the sandy beach and people into the depths of the sea. My gaze fell on my husband and daughter swimming, but I pass by, I go into silence, where there is no one, where the sea merges with».