onion

Bit by bit, Dr. Driscoll helped me to peel away the layers of protection I had built up over the years. The process was not that unlike the peeling of an onion, which also makes us cry. It has been a painful journey, and I don't now when it will end, when I can say, __K, it's over._ Maybe never. Maybe sooner than I know. I recently told Dr. Driscoll that I feel the beginnings of feeling OK, that this is the right path.

It wasn't a sign of weakness to tell what happened to me. I feel guilt no longer, only regret. The other emotions are coming around too. How much further do I need to go? I'm not sure, but there is comfort in the fact that I am in the hands of expert guides, both in the doctor's office and at home with Sue.

As I let it out, layer by layer, Dr. Driscoll helped with the bumps and valleys. He knew just how much to draw out of me and how much I could handle. He is such an expert in his profession. He told me that the guilt I was feeling was not guilt, but regret. Guilt is a good thing. It is a mechanism by which we shouldn't make the same mistake twice. If you do something questionable, then the next chance you get to do it, guilt should stop you. I had no guilt. I had regrets, many regrets, but no guilt. It took some convincing, but he prevailed. There was always a nagging in my head, that if only I had had the guts to kill Neary myself, it would have stopped him from harming others, but that was not to be as a small boy. It does hurt that, maybe, just maybe, if I had carried out one of my many plans to kill him and myself then I could have saved victims younger than I. As victims come forward from almost all the churches where he served__nd some are twenty__ive plus years my junior__ feel that they would have been spared, if only I hadn't chickened out as a boy. Therein lies the answer; I was a little boy, a ten__ear__ld boy. Other victims of Neary were as young as six.

The shame, embarrassment, feeling of low self-worth, and scores of "labels" we give ourselves are not fitting. I am beginning to see how I had no control over the situation. He was a big man, I was a little boy.

Writers are like onions, layers upon layers upon layers.

Reality, it seems, is not a flat plane, but has as many veils as an onion has skins.

Onion rings in the car cushions do not improve with time.

To stupid or what???I really don't get it... why do you agree always!?Don't you have an opinion... so far I have onion with prefix "Op" and what somehow from nowhere a prefix and suffix I build a word called itself an a "opinion"...

I'm like an onion. You can peel away my layers, but the further you go, the more it'll make you cry.

True friends chop the onions and cry together.

A woman always has half an onion left over, no matter what the size of the onion, the dish or the woman

Like the layers of an onion, under the first lie is another, and under that another, and they all make you cry.