A Room of Their Own

by Rakefet Yarden

  Tenth Meeting

  Four p.m. on Tuesday had arrived, bringing with it the little knock on the door, which was becoming fainter with each passing week. It was almost inaudible. I stood close to the door, opened it, and she walked in, almost collapsing, her legs unable to carry her anymore. She sat down on the chair in the waiting room.

  “I’ll join you in a second,” she said.

  I took hold of her arm and helped her to the armchair in the therapy room.

  I began to feel choked. Our time was running out. Dani’s body was nearing the red line, and the helplessness accompanying her every step was stalking us, waiting just around the corner.

  Dani’s senses were alert. The senses of a sensitive child, sharpened by encounters with wolves, prepared to flee and re-assemble back in her cave if I’d dare ask anything too directly, or, on the contrary, ignore something. I pushed my worries aside for a moment, slowly directing the session, allowing her to bring everything in.

  “What helps you, Dani?”

  “Nothing helps me. I can’t eat anything. Ever since I started talking about things, everything’s gotten worse. I can’t stop losing weight, and you’re not giving me any tools to calm myself down.”

  “What helped you in the past in these types of situations?”

  “I know that the only thing that got me out of it was hospitalization,” she said and sat up straight, “but I won’t agree to it, Rotem. I’m never going back there. All those horrible months in the unit, and the long months I spent rebuilding myself afterwards were enough for me. My Dad can’t force me into hospitalization this time. I’m not a minor anymore, and I’m not psychotic, so there’s no way.”

  “Yes, you know the material well,” I exhaled heavily. I couldn’t allow myself to become infected by her despair. With all due respect to my affection for Dani, and perhaps specifically because of it, I needed some distance in order to help her.

  “We keep trying and trying, and I’m letting you down,” she continued. “You’ll kick me out soon to make room for easier patients who aren’t trying to kill themselves every other day, ones who don’t have a father who’ll sue you if they manage it.”

  “I’m insured,” I smiled at her.

  Dani resisted a smile. “But you’ll feel guilty.”

  “I’ll be very sorry if that’s how it’ll end, Dani, but I can’t take responsibility for your life. We can only get through it together. You feel that I’m letting you down, too, and everything feels like one giant knot. I’m no savior, Dani. No person can save another person for any length of time. Let’s take a step back from the situation and try to look at it from the side, together.”

  “How?” Dani asked.

  “Let’s write a new character and treat her together.”

  “Who are we fooling?”

  “Your life. What’s there to lose? Isn’t it worth a try? Come on, suggest something, let’s think about it together.”

  “But how will it help?” she tried to understand.

  “Writing has the power to create new worlds, bringing us back home within ourselves. You’re trying to reclaim a sense of control over your life, which had been taken from you, but you lost control over the anorexia long ago, and you know very well that soon you’ll have no choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dani, you’ll eventually faint and be hospitalized, willing or not. The body can’t live without fuel, and the lack of control that you’re so scared of encountering will reappear in full force. You say that ever since I enticed you to speak about your trauma you’ve been feeling worse, and you’re right. It often happens that before we feel better, we have to feel a lot worse. Like the mess that occurs when we try to organize a closet. You also say that ever since we started meeting, you can’t stop losing weight, and from that I gather that you don’t feel sufficiently protected by me. So we need to find a way to change the course together. We can’t always write about ourselves. It can be overwhelming in certain situations. But with writing, we can be whoever we want to be, and see everything happening to people from a distance.”

  Dani listened silently, her facial muscles slowly relaxing. “Okay. So what do we do?” she asked.

  Maybe something’s touched her, I thought to myself.

  “Say a name,” I asked.

  “What name?”

  “What did you want to have when you were younger?”

  “Adi.”

  “That’s a beautiful name,” I said.

  “I called my Barbie dolls by that name. It always seemed like the name of a girl who has an easy life − not like Dani, which is really a boy’s name.”

  “How old is Adi?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “What happens to her?”

  “She finds out that her parents are separating, and then she gets hospitalized for the first time.”

  “Write down everything that you want to know about her. What music she likes, what kind of relationship she has with her sister, what she keeps in her wallet that she doesn’t want anyone to know about, what mantra she hears in her mind before going to sleep in order to stop the bad thoughts, and how she’s managed to get this far.”

  Dani

  Rotem was talking away. I liked her enthusiasm. It made me feel that she was letting me get to know her, and it also made me think that my situation wasn’t that terrible, considering that we could talk about other things, even laugh a bit. She continued sailing away with her ideas about writing, and I went back 15 years in my mind.

  We were on a family trip to one of the streams in northern Israel. It was known as a beautiful stream, set in the middle of a narrow canyon. Even though it was a seasonal stream and had no water when we were there, the walk around it had a spectacular view of sharp-edged cliffs hidden within a thick forest. Like on many other trips, we took Toto along, a mixed German Shepherd who was probably six or seven years old at the time. We’d had him since he was a puppy.

  As usual, Dad decided to take a shortcut, because why go through the entire walking route if one can discover new paths, which would surely be shorter and prettier. Mom got angry. She didn’t like the idea, claiming that it was dangerous. We took a shortcut anyway, just like Dad wanted, and reached a steep stone cliff down which we had to slide in order to continue to the narrow walking path beneath it. Mom got hysterical and started laying all her problems on Dad: her partners at the office, us at home, everything that was stuck, everything that wasn’t working the way she’d wanted. They argued loudly. I was around nine, and the only thing worrying me during those days was that they’d get divorced. I watched them fight while Iddo played with rocks and ignored it, and Tal tried to find practical solutions.

  Eventually, Dad promised Mom that everything would be all right if she just trusted him, thereby ignoring her actual distress. He started taking us down the cliff, one at a time. Tal went down easily, followed by Iddo, sliding straight into Dad’s hands, and I got down pretty smoothly too, although I was really scared. Mom stayed up there, stuck in her anger and screaming at Dad that this time they’re really getting a divorce. Oh God, anything but that! This is it, I kept thinking to myself. They’re getting a divorce. This is the end of us. Why didn’t I defend Mom and make Dad give it up? Why didn’t I do anything?

  Eventually Mom managed to get down, too, with Tal and Dad holding her on either side. Last but not least was Toto. He stood at the edge of the cliff, howling, trying to find his way to us. He kept trying, getting scared and stopping, and then trying again, shifting from side to side.

  Mom and Dad, in their now silent anger, said that we’d continue and he’d catch up. I was the only one who stayed behind, refusing to leave Toto on his own.

  “Dad, help him! Do something or he’ll fall,” I sobbed.

  “No he won’t. He’s a dog. What’s wrong with you? He’ll find the way.”

 
“Dad, that’s not true! Look at him crying. Please! Help him!”

  Dad was really angry at that point and just wanted to walk ahead. “Enough, Dani. He’ll be fine. Keep walking and you’ll see. He’ll calm down and find his way. Enough already!”

  At that point my crying was out of control.

  “Come on, Dani! Enough with the drama. You’re so impossible,” Tal said.

  I walked after them submissively, but I didn’t give up. I kept shouting to Toto so he’d know that we didn’t leave him, so he’d know where to find us.

  We crossed the stream to the other side of the canyon. I could still hear Toto howling and barking, and I continued to call him. Mom walked ahead in deafening silence. Dad, Tal, and Iddo chatted and played games as they walked.

  Can’t they see that the world is crashing down on us? How can they just keep going like that? Mom’s angry and wants a divorce, Toto’s stuck at the other side of the canyon − and we’re going to lose him! I wanted to scream at them, I wanted to rage, but I just kept crying.

  I cried so hard that I could hardly breathe, and I occasionally shouted to him, “Toto, we’re here. Don’t worry.”

  By the time we reached the top of the canyon and started walking back to the car, I was exhausted from all the crying. Tal kept muttering under her breath about me being such a baby, making a huge deal out of every little thing.

  Suddenly, Toto appeared through the trees and ran over to us, wagging his tail. He was utterly unaware of the magnitude of the event he’d just been part of. We drove back home, and we never again spoke about that day.

  Dani. Dani. Are you with me? I heard Rotem from a distance, speaking to me.

  “Yes. Remind me what this is supposed to do, all of these stories that you want me to write about other people’s troubles.”

  “Space,” she said decisively, with that self-assured smile of hers.

  Rotem

  The pink and white almond blossoms were in full bloom on the way to Jerusalem and so very bright that they were blinding. The sky was blue with soft clouds cruising through it. We were on the train, as I had long promised Yotam.

  Hanukkah ended up rainy, so Wednesday, my day off work that week, became the designated trip day. After the initial excitement, with Yotam constantly running up and down the car, he finally sat down in front of me although the seat next to me was also free.

  “Where are we going, Mommy?”

  “I don’t know, my boy. We’ll get off somewhere and walk around for a bit. The main thing is the train.”

  “I’m not yours,” he said and looked out the window.

  “Then whose are you, child?”

  “Mine.”

  Yotam was angry with me. In any case, he was right. He’s from me, but not mine. I just didn’t understand how he’d realized it so quickly.

  “Why are you angry, Yotam?”

  “Because you promised me that we’d do this on Hanukkah and you didn’t keep your promise and I waited and waited and now you won’t even tell me where we’re going.”

  “Do you want to know what we’re going to do?”

  “I don’t care anymore. I wanted to go with Gili and you said no. Her mommy already agreed but you didn’t. Why didn’t you, Mommy?”

  He was right. I wanted him all to myself. Try and explain that to a child. Gili’s mother isn’t as cute as Gili, so what can I do? So if he likes Gili, does that mean that her mother has to sit in my living room, or worse, walk around with me for half a day in Jerusalem? And what was she even doing agreeing without talking to me first, and how can such a cute kid have such an annoying mother? Why can’t he just like Alma, whose mother is pleasant and interesting? And how come we’ve moved so fast from “Mommy, can I?”’ to “Mommy, why not?”

  Dani’s angry with me, too, as are Emily and Omer, as am I, I thought to myself. They’re either angry or insulted. I suddenly realized that everybody wants something from me. Certainty, security, peace. I also want something from me. Something like silence, and to stop being angry. Ten days of Vipassana suddenly sounded like a very enticing notion.

  But I’m not ready to go yet, I thought to myself. I can’t. My feelings are too hurt. I wish I could just fling all this extra baggage off me. If only I could put aside the burden of life. . . Gently pull it off my shoulders, set it down in some corner and forget about it. I want to forget. Why don’t I know how to do it? Why do they stick with me, all of those memories, and I with them?

  So they’re angry at me. I’m fine with that. They want things from me that I can’t provide. Not now, in any case. I’m just trying to figure out when. When did I make them believe that I was going to provide everything that they want, the second that they want it? Love, relief, belonging, peace.

  As demanding as a new-born. Maybe I can start with myself. That’s the easiest, because it all boils down to me, and also the hardest, because it all boils down to me. It can happen all the time and equally never happen at all.

  Be here right now, in the moment. You don’t need 10 days at Ma’ayan Baruch for that, I reminded myself. Sit quietly, let thoughts pass by, coming in and out of your mind. Observe them, lay each one on its own wide green leaf by the stream, on soft clouds in a blue tranquil sky, on the stickers at the back of the cars stuck in a traffic jam that I can see from the bridge, the vehicles slowly accelerating, taking my thoughts with them far, far away, towards the sunset. I try all the tricks, but nothing helps.

  All right, so how about without trying to calm down? Just being.

  Inhaling doesn’t reject the air coming in, and exhaling doesn’t keep the air from going out. I look around me without any expectations, just observing. Not looking for insights, not looking to calm down, not looking for anything.

  Organizing my thoughts. Looking for a common denominator among them all. What do they require? What is it that we all need so badly? It can’t be all that complicated. Dani asks me for coping tools. She’s angry that I don’t provide her with relief. I should have studied something else − ceramics, or maybe plumbing. Suddenly there’s a bitter taste in my mouth. What tool can make you forget your terrible memories, little girl? What tool can heal the crack, restore your trust in people?

  She’s absolutely not asking for coping tools, Rotem. Those are just her words. Don’t let that confuse you. It’s you that she wants. She believes that her pain will subside only when the partitions vanish.

  I was certain that I was going to save Yochai. That I could heal any ache with the power of my love.

  If I just love him the right way, then he won’t want to die so badly, or maybe he’ll just want it a little less.

  If he becomes more attracted to me, then the ground won’t pull him down as strongly.

  If we create a new life and new memories, then I can make him forget his wounded friends’ cries as he lay on the ground, unable to help them. I can make him forget his mother’s screams when the officers came to tell her about his brother’s death in Lebanon. If I just love him enough, and give up enough, we’ll be fine.

  If I hold his hand and hug him all night long, or give him space.

  If I just manage to be there for him as much as he needs me, then he’ll heal.

  And I tried. I tried so hard. Until I couldn’t anymore.

  We went to therapy, of course. At first together, then separately, then together again. For 10 years I had allowed that trial, and then I stopped it all at once. Nothing extraordinary happened. One day I just felt like shedding him. It was time to let go. No matter how hard I’d try and want and love, no one person can save another for an entire lifetime. You can provide reasons for living, and inspire, but you can’t be the sole reason for someone else’s living. They end up hating you for it. . . I’m speaking from experience.

  I made a decision and suddenly leaped from my seat, pressing the stop button. “Come on, Yotam, we’re getting o
ff here.” Maybe this will help me stop thinking, I hoped.

  “We’re not looking for the solution underneath the light. If there are difficulties in the relationship, then we must examine the bigger picture.” I heard the voice of Michaela, the guide from the Constellation Course, which was the closest course to plumbing I could find during my ceaseless search for ways to unblock obstructions. New ways lessen the baggage and relieve the human suffering that exists everywhere around me and within me. Not underneath the light. I suddenly realized that we all look for the right distance. Each in their own way, asking for space. We all need air. Dani. Yotam. Emily. I, too, want distance from the resurfacing memories. How does one create the right distance? How can one even know what that is?

  “Mommy, what’s that animal with the horns?” Yotam’s voice brought me back to the here and now.

  “It’s a deer. That’s the sign for the Jerusalem Zoo.”

  “Is it close? Let’s go there,” he asked.

  We have a membership at the Safari in Ramat Gan, so I thought that if we were already in Jerusalem we could go around in nature or see the ancient ruins, but Yotam wanted the zoo so everything else was going to wait until the next trip.

  We walked around the prim garden paths, passing by vast lawns. A family with little children passed by us, one child in a stroller and another one in a baby carrier, on their way to the large animal cages. To our right was a row of flamingos standing on one leg and sipping from the pink lake.

  “Look, Mommy, they’re pink!”

  “That’s right. Do you know how that happens? They put beet juice in their water so that they’ll stay pink, because here they don’t have the salmon they usually eat in the wild, and which maintains their color.”

  “So if I eat salmon or beets, will I turn pink too?”

  “No, we’re not flamingos.”

  “Oh,” he breathed a sigh of relief.

  So did I. Salmon and beets have escaped a boycott, I thought to myself. As it is, he hasn’t touched meat for months − ever since he realized that it comes from animals just like Snoopy.