I began seeing Dr. Benson a few weeks after Tillie was born. That’s when the panic attacks first started. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me. I thought that I was dying. Random spots on my body started to go numb. I was dizzy and having heart palpitations. Abbott ended up bringing me to the emergency room when I almost dropped Tillie one night. After a battery of tests was run to rule out any neurological or heart problems, I was diagnosed with postpartum. And still, after a clean bill of health, I was sure that those doctors hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Women with postpartum hate their babies, right? I was convinced that they just couldn’t figure out what was wrong because I saw the moon and stars in my baby girl’s eyes. There was no way that she was the cause. But, at the hospital’s recommendation, I came to see Dr. Benson, and he confirmed that postpartum is not always depression and that what I had was anxiety. He put me on a daily pill for a few months, and after I was feeling better, he prescribed Xanax to take as needed.
I look up to meet his glistening brown eyes with tear-soaked eyes of my own. “Thank you...I still can’t believe that he’s gone,” I say, already fighting back tears. “That he isn’t just on a business trip and coming back home to me.”
“I can only imagine how hard this all is for you. I would ask how you’re doing, but I don’t really think that’s necessary,” he says, folding his slightly wrinkled hands together on the top of his desk. “Why don’t you start? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Dr. Benson patiently waits while I gather my composure. I really like that about him. I know it is his job, but he is so calm—never pushy. “I don’t really know where to start,” I say, and those damned tears fall anyway. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I choke out.
He passes me a handful of Kleenex, and I dab at my eyes and nose. “I’m trying so hard to be normal for Tillie. She can’t lose me, too. But, I’m so scared...I’m scared that I won’t be able to stop that from happening.” I curl up into the chair and hug my knees to my chest.
With a look of concern, he asks, “What do you mean by lose you, Vivienne?”
I can see where he is going with this.
“Not, ummm, not physically, of course,” I say, looking up at him through wet lashes. “Don’t worry about that. I could never ever do that to her. I just mean mentally. I can’t focus, and I’m so sad. I can’t stop crying. I’ve been so distant with her, and I know that she needs me, but I don’t feel like I’m able to be what she needs right now, and I hate it! I hate the person that I’m becoming, but I don’t know how to stop it...I feel like I’m failing her,” I cry. “I’m failing my baby.”
“Vivienne, you are not failing,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Listen to me. You’re an amazing mother to that little girl, and you were an amazing wife to Abbott. You will get through this. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually you will find happiness again. You’ll find it in your daughter and your loved ones, and your days will get easier. I’m not saying you will ever stop loving Abbott or missing him, or even that you’ll move on romantically; although, that’s okay, too. Each person is different and whatever path you choose will be the right one for you. But, you’ll learn to live again. I’ve been doing this for such a long time. Believe me when I tell you that you will get through this.”
The passion in which he delivers his words makes me almost believe them. I want to believe so badly that I will come out of this okay. That someday I won’t be merely surviving but living again, but right now my future feels so bleak. If it weren’t for Tillie, I would have no reason to get out of bed in the morning. That is my truth.
“Do you have anyone helping you?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Someone to help occupy your time and distract you from your grief?”
“Cassie was...until I sent her home yesterday. I was depending on her too much. I need to do this on my own. I want Tillie’s life to be as normal as possible and watching her godmother take care of her mother is not normal,” I say nervously, now questioning my own decision.
“You can’t put a time limit on grief. We all have to grieve in our own way and at our own pace. I’m afraid that you’re trying to rush yourself, Vivienne. Abbott hasn’t even been gone two weeks. Please allow your loved ones to be there for you. I’m really concerned about you being in that big house all alone.”
“Oh, I’m not. I’m not alone, and I don’t mean Tillie,” I add. “Abbott’s nephew, Reid, came to help with the camp over the summer, so he’s staying with us.”
I don’t tell him that Reid is technically next door in the pool house, and that is about as close as I can handle right now, or that I really don’t know him at all. I don’t tell him how crazy I have felt since laying eyes on him at the airport yesterday or that the panic attacks have more than doubled. I don’t tell him that the emptiness I’ve been feeling since Abbott’s death is slowly being replaced by guilt.
“Great. That’s good. I’m glad you have him there with you.” I can hear the relief in his voice.
“Reid is great. He’s out fishing with Matilda right now, actually. I have a feeling they’ll be really close by summer’s end,” I say with a forced smile.
The doctor looks at me questioningly. “Am I sensing some animosity? Has something happened that I should know about?” he asks, wrinkling his forehead.
I have no poker face.
“No. Not really. But...well...he looks just like Abbott. It’s sort of messing with my head a little. It’s just...It hurts seeing him. I know it’s not his fault. Reid really is great. It’s my issue. Not his,” I ramble. “And Tillie...God, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a child,” I say, placing my head in my hands.
Dr. Benson shakes his head at me. “There is nothing you can say that would make you sound like a child. You’re entitled to your feelings, however juvenile you may think that they are.”
I nod. “I’m afraid that Tillie is trying to replace Abbott with Reid...” The tears are now falling freely. It hurts more than I imagined to speak that thought aloud. “Abbott just died.” I grab for more tissues and wipe at my wet face.
Nodding, Dr. Benson replies, “That’s perfectly normal, my dear. Tillie is so young. She can’t possibly understand. She just wants her life to go back to normal. Children that young don’t fully grasp the permanence of death. They don’t grieve the way adults do. She’s not trying to replace Abbott. She’s trying to fill that gap...but no one will ever take the place of her father.”
“So, I should just encourage this?” I ask incredulously.
“No. I wouldn’t say encourage as much as allow it. Allow Tillie to grieve and to deal with her pain in whatever way works for her. If hanging out with Reid is bringing her happiness, then you shouldn’t try to take that from her. And if it’s the thought of her forgetting about Abbott that’s the problem, then you should talk with her about him. Spend a little time each night remembering her father. And if you cry, that’s okay, too. It’s not the end of the world for Tillie to see you cry. It’s a normal part of grieving. A normal part of life,” Dr. Benson explains.
“Okay. All right, I can do that.” I’ve avoided even saying Abbott’s name around Tillie unless she brings him up for fear of upsetting her or myself. I realize now that by doing so, I’m helping her forget. I have to find ways to keep her father alive.
“You mentioned the panic attacks. How are you handling those? Do you still have medication?”
“No, I was using the pills, but I’m out.” Liar. The truth is, I do still have half of a bottle, but I have been taking them more frequently and don’t want to run out. The thought of doing this without them is terrifying.
“All right. What about the dose? Is the .25 mg tablet still working for you?”
“Yes. It is. Well, it was,” I answer, and I feel bad for lying. But, the anxiety of running out of medication overrules any guilt that I feel at this moment.
Dr. Benson hums while flipping through my chart. “I want to put you back on the Zolo
ft for a while. I think you need something for every day. It’s been three months since the last time that you refilled the Xanax. I’m going to keep you on that as well. It’ll help you to shut off your mind and get to sleep at night. But I want you to remember how addicting these medications can become. They are really just a Band-aid to reduce your symptoms and allow you to function more normally until you’ve dealt with your grief. That will come with time. You can use the medication to counteract those attacks.”
I nod. “That sounds good.”
“I’m going to keep you on the .25 mg Xanax, and you can take it at night to sleep or during the day if you get a really bad attack. I don’t want you taking them more than you absolutely need to. No more than three times a day, and you need to wait at least six to eight hours between pills. If it’s not working, then I want you to come back and see me, okay?”
“Of course.”
“I know that you’ve taken it before, but remember to be careful driving. Benzodiazepines can cause extreme fatigue,” he warns. “Do not consume any alcohol while on the medication. Alcohol greatly increases the side effects because they are both downers. The side effects can be so severe that they have even been used as a date rape drug. Coupled with high amounts of alcohol, they can cause memory loss and in some cases even death.”
“I remember the side effects, Doctor. I’m not really a big drinker, anyway. That won’t be a problem for me. I just want to be able to get through the day, you know?”
“All right. Well, I wish you the best, Vivienne. With time, it will get easier. You hang in there and enjoy that sweet girl of yours,” he says as he writes out the prescription on his little pad. “I’d like to see you back here in two or three months to touch base. Of course, you can come sooner if you feel like you need it.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor,” I respond, taking the prescription from his hand. “And thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
I pull up to the house, admiring the scenery. We have a long winding drive lined with oak trees that form a canopy overhead. The front and side yards have a few large oaks as well. The largest is to the left of the house and my personal favorite. Abbott recently hung a tire swing for Tillie from one of its thick, mossy branches.
I chuckle to myself at the memory of him trying to get the cable up and over that branch. He’d tied a small brick to one end, and it took forever for him to get enough oomph to make it. I remember heckling him about his throwing arm, and when he finally got it over he did his stupid little victory dance. Anyone who knows Abbott has witnessed it. It was just this silly little cross between the Carlton and the running man. It used to embarrass the hell out of me, but now...now I would give anything to see him do that godawful dance just one more time.
My mind drifts to the first time I ever saw Abbott’s moves...It was only a few weeks after the Halloween frat party. Abbott and I were sort of an unofficial couple. We did everything together. I’d even started attending his football games on Friday nights. They’d just won against their biggest rival, and Abbott made the game-winning touchdown.
“Come on, Cass. I want to get to the house before the guys make it back,” I urge.
“I’m coming, Vivienne. I need to be ‘fuck me’ hot. The place will be swarming with all sorts of football player yumminess!” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “What’s the deal with you and Abbott, anyway? Are the two of you together...officially, yet?” she asks while applying another layer of mascara to her lashes.
“He hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend or anything. Do guys still do that? I don’t know what we are. I just know whatever’s going on...it’s really good, Cass. It’s so much more than anything I’ve ever had with a guy.”
“Well...let’s go. What are you waiting for? We need to get to this party before one of those skanky cheerleader bitches gets her claws into your man!”
I shake my head at my best friend and grab my purse and keys as we head out of the door.
It takes a few trips around the block before we find an empty spot to park. Cassie and I have to do some serious walking to get to the house. We somehow arrive just before the guys all show up, and thankfully only have to hang out with the frat bitches for a few minutes.
When the players walk in, their fight song is blaring through the speakers and everyone cheers and rushes to greet them.
Everyone but me. I just hang back and observe.
The smell of beer permeates my senses as the cheerleaders pass out overflowing Solo cups to the team. I look on as they hang all over the guys. Sluts.
Finally, I spot Abbott in the center of a crowd of people chanting his name and push my way through the gaggle of girls to find my man. At least, I think he’s my man. I hope he is...
What is he doing?
Oh my God...he is quite possibly the worst dancer I have ever seen. He’s got the attention of the whole room, and where I would, no doubt, die from embarrassment, he just eats it up. He’s shaking his hips and doing some running man thing with his legs. I can’t even...
And then he spots me and crooks his finger toward me.
I shake my head, laughing.
He continues motioning for me to join him and then mouths the word “please” while poking his bottom lip out. I can’t leave him hanging, so against my better judgment, I make my way through the crowd.
Oh God. Am I really going to embarrass myself in front of all of these people?
I’m a pretty good dancer, actually, but Abbott is hopeless. He’s terrible and adorable, and damn does he smell like heaven. “Hey,” I say as I approach him, and the sight of his still damp hair and those dimples is doing crazy things to my girlie parts.
Abbott flashes me a sexy smile and then pulls my body against his. He kisses my temple and works his way down to my ear and whispers, “Hey,” as he continues down my neck to my collar bone.
The next song comes on—“Back That Ass Up”—and the house goes wild. Booties are popping everywhere, and I’m relieved that we are not the sole focus of every pair of eyes in the room any longer.
Abbott and I are barely moving. I grind my ass into his crotch as he continues making out with my neck and whispers, “Babe?”
I turn my face to meet his and answer, “Yeah?”
“They clowned when you passed, yeah,” he sings, eying the group of girls in the corner.
I bust out laughing and look over to the flock of girls gawking at us and give them the stink eye.
“Let’s give ’em something to stare at,” he says. Then he places his hands on my hips and begins to really move against me. And the boy can move. He slides one of his hands up under the hem of my shirt to caress my flat stomach, and I lift my arm over my head and around his neck, pulling his face against my own. Being this close to him has me tingling in all the right places.
I look back at him and ask, “What the hell was that...thing,” I say, waving my free hand in the air, “you were doing when you walked in? I can’t even call that dancing. I was scared.”
Abbott cracks up. “That, babe, is called a victory dance. It’s supposed to be silly. You thought I was serious?” He laughs even harder.
“Well, I was a little embarrassed for you, truthfully, and really embarrassed for me, too. I’m glad you can actually dance.”
“Are you, now?” Abbott asks as he pulls my waist into his, pressing his bulge into my ass. “Speaking of slangin’ wood,” he whispers as he reaches the hand that’s still under my shirt up to grab my breast.
“What wood?” I tease. And boy am I ever joking. He is huge and hard and my body is on fire.
“Whoa, Vivie’s got jokes!” Abbott laughs.
I turn in his arms to face him. “Who says I’m joking?” I ask, running my hands up his chest, around his neck, and into his short blond hair.
“That sounds like a challenge?” he questions, raising his right brow.
Yes, please! We’ve been doing this dance for weeks, and I’m so ready to be with him. Every time thi
ngs get a little heavy, Abbott backs off. I don’t want to be a slut and rape the boy, but I am not far from begging.
I reach down and palm him in my right hand, eliciting a hiss from his lips.
“Fuck me,” Abbott growls, releasing a long breath.
“I’m trying...” I say, biting my bottom lip. God, could I be any more desperate?
“Not here, Viv. Not yet,” he says, brushing my hair out of my eyes with the back of his hand. “Not at the frat house. Not when we’ve been drinking. I want our first time to mean something. You mean more to me than this, Viv.”
“Do I?” I ask seriously. “What is this Abbott?” I motion between the two of us. “I think you like me and I really, really like you. I want you so bad, and you just keep pushing me away. You’ve probably slept with half of the girls in this room, so I know you have no aversion to sex. Is it me?” I ask with tears in my eyes.
I am so pathetic.
“Come here, baby,” he says as he grabs the sides of my face in his hands and pulls until our noses are practically touching. “Yes, it’s you,” he says, massaging my scalp with his fingers. “But, not the way you’re thinking so stop it.” He looks right into my eyes. “I have never wanted anyone the way that I want you and it scares me and excites me all at once. I don’t want to fuck this up,” he says, wiping my tears away. “Don’t let me mess this up, Viv.”
Banging on my car window snaps me back to reality. I look out to see Reid and Tillie with huge smiles on their faces, and my heart is feeling lighter than it has in days. I smile back, turning off the engine and unbuckling my seatbelt. I open the door to my silver Maxima and Tillie rushes into my arms.
“Mommy! We hadded so much fun and we catched seven fishes,” she says, holding out three fingers.
“Did you now?” I ask giving her a tight squeeze and looking over at Reid.
He ruffles Tillie’s hair. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Seven catfish. We were just about to clean them out back on the wharf if you want to help.”
Vivienne's Guilt Page 6