Britt, What helped me -- the only thing that really helped -- was having a t for a long time and learning to trust a little bit (and from my perspective now it was just a tiny bit, really) and then, one day, knowing it's time and crash consciously, at my t's. By "consciously crash" I mean to let it all out, whatever is there at the time emotions-wise. There was one second where I wasn't quite there, where I would swear I wasn't alive, I simply
wasn't, and then it all came out completely knocking me over the edge.
The only thing that worked was that woman letting me be me for all the time I needed and giving me space to crash, letting me crash fully and just be.
I have a hard time explaining this. There is a German poem that says it, but unfortunately I'll have to translate. I hope it won't lose in translation: "Keep me together but also let go of me again." That is what my t did. That day I got down to the incredible grief of me as the child I was back then, she managed to do what only afterwards turned out to have been the exact right things. Let me go down badly, let me hit rock bottom and be there like a light and walk with me towards the exit when I was ready to.
There is that one movie I like, and for a loss of words, I hope I may give you that image: Beyond The Horzion (starring Robin Williams). He loves his wife, his wife dies and goes to hell, I think he dies too but goes to heaven. Hell for her is a place without light, without love, without warmth. He loves her so much that he goes there and to see her home to heaven. The end of the movie is not important, it is what he wants to do for her, go all the way into darkness so that she would have someone by her side on her way out. That is what I feel my t did for me that day (although not so Hollywood-like dramatic).
I think that in order to get that far, to get to that point where I could place that little bit of trust in her (and back then it was a lot of trust), it was important that I wanted to trust her. I wanted to realize that she is on my side, no matter how it feels sometimes. I wanted to do what I could to know her better and share more. Awareness of what she was for me was key. And all that you can only do if you
do it. Like a child that learns to walk; and I think children can be quite scared of making that first step away from their mother or father, without clutching to anything. But they want to so eventually they will.
What I am saying is that maybe, if that is the case for you, I would tell my t that I need space and time and that at this moment writing it all down is not an option. I would "offer" something in turn, acknowledging that I do find it important and I don't want to avoid per se, and would share what I really feel (dead frightened, I imagine) about writing it down. I might choose a part of the whole story, just a scene from a movie, figuratively speaking and share that with her, in any way, be it written (with access to your emotions or not) or spoken (same). It could help you (it has helped me) to put your own hand flat onto your chest while you talk, or even beforehand, while you think about what part of the story to tell her. You could use massaging a meridian that is good for you. By massaging any/some meridians, you can gain access softly to your emotions. And remember that since you haven't felt your emotions for a long, long time that your friend's death has caused you back then to feel, any emotion that may come up may
feel incredibly huge, overwhelming, too much, etc. For me, it has been true often that I thought the feelings I had were really over-sized, too much, monstrous, but in reality it was just that I had not felt them for such a long time that when I did, they
felt that way, but they were just the feelings from back then coming up today.
You could also do the chair thing. See:
What could also help could be telling yourself about what happened over and over. I mean, tell yourself e.g. today for a few minutes, then again, or another part of the story two days later. Get in touch with yourself, literally.
Just some thoughts.
I can assure you that my crash at my t's was nothing close to what I had feared beforehand. It was a first access to all the grief, and it found it's natural end (the grieving that day) within the regular time at my t's. It was a visit back there and then, and it was important to come back "home" (into the now) after.