Better Than This

by Cathy Zane

  When she awoke the light in the room had turned dusky. She felt disoriented. How long had she been asleep? She looked around at the balled-up papers on the floor and pushed herself up to look at the clock. Her eyes settled on a framed picture of her, Lizzy, and Robert. Her eyes continued to scan the other framed pictures, evidence of their supposedly happy family. She and Robert had both been good at playing their parts, but it had all been a facade. Behind closed doors and all that. She felt betrayed. She had worked so hard to fulfill her role in their marriage. To be a good wife. But none of that had mattered. He didn’t care. He’d never been invested. All this time, he’d had his whole other life that she knew nothing about.

  A sense of outrage ballooned in her chest. She slowly pulled herself up to a standing position, walked over to the bookshelves, and methodically picked up picture after picture and threw them across the room. The sound of the breaking glass egged her on and she started moving more quickly and furiously. Screams rose into her throat: “Son of a bitch! Fucking asshole! Liar. Cheater! How could you fucking do this to me? And to Lizzy? You’re a worthless, piece of shit father. A good-for-nothing fucking bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hope you rot in hell!”

  After she’d thrown the last picture, Sarah starting throwing books, Robert’s golfing trophies, CD cases, anything she could get her hands on. She finally sank to her knees and pounded the carpet with her fists until they started to ache. She dropped down onto her side as the sadness and tears crept back in. She let herself cry for a while, and eventually she began to feel what felt like calm, although it occurred to her that maybe it was just exhaustion. She slowly crawled up off the floor and walked to the kitchen. She needed some food. And she needed to call Kate and check on Lizzy.

  She had considered calling to cancel her appointment with Monica. She’d been so drained and tired when she woke up, she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed—and she probably wouldn’t have if Kate hadn’t shown up to take Lizzy to school. She’d all but forced Sarah out of bed and into the shower.

  Now that she was here, on Monica’s sofa, she felt angry at Kate for pushing her. She crawled into the corner of the couch farthest away from Monica’s chair and hugged a big throw pillow to her chest. She didn’t want to be here, and she definitely didn’t want to talk about how she’d been since their last meeting. Did all therapists start out like that? Was that something they taught them in therapist school? Why couldn’t they just talk like normal human beings?

  She kept her answers to Monica’s questions curt and nearly monosyllabic. Maybe Monica would send her home if she didn’t have anything to say. But Monica didn’t seem dissuaded; she continued to push on with more questions.

  “How has the writing been going?” she asked.

  “It hasn’t. It just makes me angry.”

  “I can hear that. What about?”

  “Everything!” Sarah forcefully threw the pillow back onto the other side of the sofa. “Robert. The baby. My life. It’s all a mess.” She pushed herself up and walked to the window. She stood quietly looking out, her sense of outrage permeating the room.

  “Nothing has worked out the way you wanted or expected,” Monica said.

  Sarah continued to stare out the window, refusing to respond to such a stupid comment. Of course she never expected or wanted any of this. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. Who would ever have wanted any of this?

  Monica remained quiet, and Sarah continued staring out the window for several minutes, thoughts rushing through her mind. She was a good person. Why were all these bad things happening to her? Why did Robert cheat on her and leave her? Why did she lose the baby?

  When she finally spoke, her voice was slow but steady. “When I was a little kid, my mom would take me to Sunday school. It didn’t matter that my parents didn’t go to church—she took me anyway, and I listened to the stories and got a naive, childish idea that somehow, if I was good, my father wouldn’t get angry. He would leave my mother alone. He would stop his rages and beatings.”

  “So being good would make everything better.”

  Sarah turned back to face Monica. “Well, it didn’t. But I think I still believed that someday it would make a difference. You know, some Cinderella, happy ending sort of thing. That love and goodness would prevail. But clearly that’s not the case. There’s nothing good or loving about any of this shit.”

  “You feel like love has let you down.”

  Sarah walked back and plopped down heavily on the sofa. “Hasn’t it? Look at my life!” She held her hand up to indicate running news headlines. “News flash: Father an abusive drunk. Mother commits suicide. Boyfriend abandons. Husband betrays. Baby dies.” She pulled the pillow close to her again and sat quietly for a moment before continuing, her voice more subdued. “Where is the love in any of that?”

  Monica waited briefly before responding. “You’ve had some very painful losses and betrayals, both recently and as a child. And it really hurts.”

  Sarah curled up into the corner of the sofa and buried her head in the pillow she was hugging. She cried quietly for several minutes before reaching for a Kleenex from the table.

  “My friend Maggie recently said something that made me think about my parents and their relationship and how I was impacted by it all. I was really pissed at her. I didn’t want to hear it. I’ve always wanted to think I was above it all. That somehow I’d escaped unscathed and it was all behind me. I wanted it to be behind me. I didn’t want to go back and rehash it all.” She blew her nose and wiped her face. “I didn’t want to remember.”

  Monica nodded. “I know. Life is hard sometimes. And it’s messy. And people don’t always act in good or loving ways. But that doesn’t mean that goodness and love don’t exist.”

  Sarah reached for another Kleenex. “I wish I could believe that.”

  “You feel like all is lost,” Monica said, leaning in closer to Sarah.

  Sarah nodded and wiped her nose. “I do.”

  “Well, it is true that some of the things we lose we don’t ever get back.”

  Sarah continued to clutch the pillow. “I just feel like I’ve lost so much.”

  “I know,” Monica said. “And there are also things you have that you haven’t lost.”

  Sarah thought for a moment. “Yeah,” she said, letting out a big sigh. “I know that’s true. I have Lizzy. And my friends. And my job.”

  “And you’re healthy and strong and insightful and resilient. Even with everything you’ve been through, you haven’t lost those strengths.”

  “Well, for a while I thought I had.” Sarah managed a watery smile. “But I feel like I’m starting to get them back.”

  Monica nodded. “You are. And there are other things you can get back too.” She got up, opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a cloth-covered journal. “Sarah, your mother never got her painting back, but you can take back your writing.” She handed the journal to Sarah. “Try the writing again. Start with journaling the connections you see with your parents and what you are feeling, even if those feelings are difficult. Write out the anger and sorrow and feelings of betrayal. Don’t worry about trying to write a story or trying to write well. Just write about what you are feeling.”

  Sarah took the journal and looked at Monica. She felt so drained. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Or if she wanted to. Thinking about her parents left her feeling sad and overwhelmed. How could writing about it possibly help her get better?

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “I think you can.”

  “Well, you might just be disappointed.”

  “This isn’t about disappointing me or anyone else. It’s not about any finished product. It’s simply about letting yourself take all those voices in your head and writing them out in your journal.”

  Sarah’s stomach tightened and her pulse quickened. She looked nervously at Monica. How did Monica know about her voices? She felt nauseous and shaky. She probably th
inks you’re nuts. You must have said something without realizing it. That’s what you get for being such a blabbermouth. Dumb move, Sarah. Now she knows how totally messed up you are.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said coolly.

  “We all have lots of thoughts running through our minds all the time that we don’t say out loud. Much of the time we aren’t even aware of them,” Monica said. “Writing often helps us get them out into the light of day, so to speak.”

  “Thoughts, sure,” Sarah said. “But you said voices.”

  “Yes, I guess I did,” Monica said. “It seems like that word bothered you.”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said, coaching herself to choose her words carefully. “Hearing voices sounds a bit crazy.”

  “Crazy?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem normal.”

  “Well, in some extreme cases it might not be, but I was talking about the thoughts we all have in our heads and the conversations we have with ourselves.”

  “Like what?” Sarah still felt cautious.

  “Anything from encouraging or supporting ourselves to criticizing and sabotaging ourselves.”

  “So . . . that’s a normal thing?”

  “It’s a very common thing. Sometimes the thinking is so automatic that we don’t even realize we are doing it. But whether we know we’re doing it or not, our thinking can really impact how we are feeling.”

  Sarah frowned, not sure she understood.

  “For example, if we have thoughts that are negative or critical, we can end up feeling bad about ourselves.”

  Sarah’s eyes opened wide. “That definitely happens for me.”

  “I suspected so,” Monica said. “You’re not alone. That’s one of the reasons I suggested the journaling. Many people find it helpful as a way to start to understand more about what they are thinking and feeling.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Sarah said.

  “Try it out and see. Think of it as an experiment. Just remember that it might be hard at first. The feelings that come up are often painful. That’s why they’ve been buried for so long—so you wouldn’t have to feel them. You might have to push yourself a little, but many of my clients find that it’s worth it in the end.”

  “So it’s worked for other people?”

  “Absolutely. Many other people.”

  Sarah relaxed. “Okay. I’ll try again.”

  “Good. You can tell me how it went when we meet next week.”

  Sarah stood to leave. “Sounds good.” She started toward the door but then turned back to Monica and held up the journal. “Oh, and thanks for this by the way.”

  Monica smiled. “My pleasure. I’ll see you next week.”

  Chapter 19

  Sarah felt lighter as she left Monica’s office. More at peace. Her mind was surprisingly quiet. She had several hours before she needed to pick Lizzy up from school, so she got in her car and drove aimlessly for a while—and then an idea struck her. The rain had stopped and the sun was peeking through the patchy clouds. It would be nice to be outside. She turned the car around and headed for Green Lake.

  The crispness of the light breeze and the warmth of the sun on her skin energized her as she started her walk. The nice weather had brought more people out than usual. Mothers with strollers, joggers, couples walking hand in hand. She found herself smiling as she thought back to taking walks here with Matt. It had been one of their favorite things to do, just walking and talking.

  Her smile turned into a frown as she realized that it wasn’t something she and Robert had ever done. In fact, they’d never done much together that was fun. She thought back over their relationship, wondering why she’d been attracted to him. He was clearly handsome and charismatic. And powerful. She’d felt so vulnerable after Matt left, and Robert had made her feel safe right from the beginning. And wanted. When he’d told her he wanted to take her home that first night, she hadn’t been able to say no. She’d never told anyone that, not even Maggie. She’d been ashamed. Matt was the only man she’d slept with before Robert, and that had only been after months of dating. And then to turn around and sleep with someone she’d just met—and without protection, no less? She had thought she was okay. She’d counted it out in her head. And she hadn’t wanted to do anything to spoil the moment. Thinking about it now made her feel queasy.

  What a stupid, slutty, irresponsible thing to do. How could you have been so careless? No wonder Robert was pissed when you told him you were pregnant. What did you expect? You should have taken precautions. This whole mess was your fault.

  “Stop it!” Sarah said aloud—and then quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard her. She felt overwhelmed. She couldn’t stand the voice anymore. She was tired of it. She just wanted to make it go away. An image of her mother popped into her head. Maybe that was how she had felt. Sarah didn’t remember her father ever having anything positive to say to her mother. Or to her, for that matter. He had always been critical. And mean. So abusive, often hitting and choking her mother. She shuddered as she remembered how afraid she’d always felt around him.

  Her mother must have felt that too. Maybe that’s why she never stood up to him. She’d been too afraid and beaten down. Sarah thought back to her loneliness as a child and how much she had longed for more of her mother—more connection, more affection. She had never been there for Sarah. She’d stayed locked in her room all the time. Sarah had hated her for that. But she hadn’t understood depression back then. Tears formed in Sarah’s eyes. She’d never fully considered what it had been like for her mother. How the beatings and the verbal abuse must have taken their toll. How helpless and trapped she must have felt.

  Anger at her father exploded in her chest. She wanted to stand up to him now in a way she hadn’t when she was young. To talk back. To find a way to make him stop. Her stride quickened and she felt a little stronger.

  “On your left,” a voice called and a bicyclist whizzed by, startling Sarah from her thoughts. She looked at her watch. It was close to noon. Maggie would be getting lunch soon. Maybe she’d be up for a last-minute rendezvous.

  To her delight, Maggie picked up on the first ring. “Hey there. I was just about to call you.”

  “Great minds think alike,” Sarah said. “I wanted to see if you had time to grab a quick lunch.”

  “I’ll do you one better. I won a lunch basket from that contest the deli was having. The one, by the way, that you didn’t bother to enter because you said we’d never win! Now who told you so!”

  Sarah laughed. “That’s great. I stand corrected. Good for you!”

  “Good for both of us! Why don’t I bring it over and we can have a picnic on your deck? Take advantage of this nice day.”

  “That would be great,” Sarah said. “But you won’t have enough time for that. I could just meet you at school.”

  “It’s a minimum day today. Which you would know if you weren’t lounging around at home.”

  “I am not lounging around at home,” Sarah said, laughing. “I’ll have you know that I just walked around Green Lake. Which I dare say is more exercise than you’ve gotten today.”

  “Sad but true. I’ve been trapped inside these cinder block walls. And I’m desperate to escape. Want to just meet at your house? I’ll be done here in under an hour.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you there.”

  Sarah was setting the table on the deck when Maggie arrived.

  “Hello,” Maggie called out from the entryway.

  “I’m out here,” Sarah called back.

  Maggie rushed out onto the deck with a large basket and plopped it down on the table. “Check this out!” She began pulling out a seemingly never-ending stream of items: bread, cheese, lunch meats, salads, and a bottle of Chardonnay.

  “Wow! What a feast. Let me grab a corkscrew and a couple wine glasses.”

  Maggie opened all the containers as Sarah opened and poured the wine. They both loaded up their plates a
nd settled in to eat. Maggie raised her glass to toast.

  “To good food, good drink, and BFFs!”

  Sarah raised her glass to Maggie’s and smiled before taking a sip. The thought of confessing to Maggie about her first time with Robert jumped into her head. She hesitated a moment, trying to talk herself out of it, but then impulsively pushed ahead.

  “I was thinking about something today that I’ve never told anyone.”

  “You have my attention.” Maggie took a big bite of a baguette slathered with Italian salami and Havarti cheese and, with her mouth still full, said, “Do tell.”

  “I need to start by saying this is hard for me to say. I feel really embarrassed. So no joking, okay?”

  Maggie put her food down and looked at Sarah. “Yeah, of course.”

  “I was thinking about when Robert and I got together. I met him in a coffee shop one morning when I was studying. He asked me out to dinner that night and I ended up going home with him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s it,” Sarah said. “I had sex with him the day I met him.”

  “Okay,” Maggie paused. “So, how was it?”

  “Maggie! I said no jokes. I feel really ashamed. Like a slut or something.”

  Maggie visibly struggled to suppress her smile. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t joking. I just didn’t know what you were getting at.”