Shadowed Soul

by John Spagnoli

  “No, I'm saying you feel what you feel and you cannot help that, Thomas,” assured Sophie. “The human mind very seldom behaves, especially when it's in some kind of stressful situation. You can only feel what you feel and if some people judge you as not feeling the right thing then clearly they don't know you.”

  Sophie had made a huge statement; I needed to hear that from someone I had grown to respect as both honest and impartial. She reflected my own thoughts on the idea of being normal. I glanced at the time; minutes remained.

  “To answer your questions, Sophie, I don't feel guilty but I feel guilty that I do not feel guilt.”

  “Well, I suppose we can discuss that next week if you want to.” Sophie smiled as I stood up. “Thomas, do you mind if I say hello properly to Bailey?”

  Bailey had been lying quietly at my feet for the full hour and while Sophie had greeted him with a quick pet and scratch behind the ears when we had arrived she had gotten down to business very quickly. I had assumed that perhaps she was not that interested in dogs and had allowed me to bring him for no other reason than I had requested it. But after I told her it would be fine to approach Bailey, I saw that she was very comfortable around dogs and as she knelt in front of Bailey patting his flanks and ruffling his ears I could see that he was very comfortable around her.

  “He's a fine dog, Thomas, you're really lucky to have a friend like Bailey.” She smiled and looked at me from her kneeling position. “I, well I brought him a treat, if it's okay with you? I don't want to overstretch your or his boundaries.”

  “I’m sure Bailey would be more than happy to accept a treat,” I replied. “What do you say buddy? Treat?”

  Bailey barked once and Sophie's face lit up with an eager, childlike smile. She went to her desk and brought out a packet of bone shaped dog biscuits from the drawer. As she approached Bailey, he sensed food and sat to raise a paw as if to shake hands. Sophie giggled as she gave him a biscuit. Bailey devoured the biscuit and then instantly started looking for another one. Sophie glanced at me for permission and I shrugged and nodded a little.

  “I don't suppose one more could hurt,” I said.

  She nodded and gave him a second biscuit which he devoured.

  “Do you want to take these with you?” asked Sophie, as she sealed the packet of biscuits.

  “Maybe you should keep them here. It’ll give Bailey something to look forward to.”

  She nodded at the suggestion that Bailey may come back.

  “Thomas, before you go I have something I want to suggest. Just in case you want to mull it over. You know that Beth would also be welcome at any time if you felt ready or that it was appropriate,” said Sophie.

  “I don't know if we could afford it, to be honest, Sophie,” I said.

  “No, I'm talking about you both together,” she clarified. “An hour of my time is an hour of my time, same fee. Up to you, though I think it would be helpful.”

  As Bailey and I walked back to our apartment the idea of having Beth attend one of these sessions simmered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The hospital was not where I should go. Being in that place was not good for me, sitting next to the ruined shell of a woman who hated me. I had gone a few times and my mother had very obviously not wanted me there. Uncomfortable for both of us, avoidance seemed the best remedy. I did not feel guilty as such, my sessions with Sophie had slowly begun to erode those particular sensations, but I still held a deep belief that I would be talked about by the staff, labeled as the son that did not care, and that rankled. They had no idea what my childhood had been like or what the situation was so they could never comprehend why I elected not to come. I desperately tried to stop fixating on the possibility that they were talking about me because it truly was irrelevant if they were or not.

  It should not have mattered, but of course it did.

  I guess the main thing that I chose to allow to hurt me was the fact that I was at heart a decent, caring guy and the idea that some people would not perceive me as decent clawed at my confidence. The one thing I had always wanted most in life was a mother and father who cared for me and while I believe that my dad had loved me I still never really understood why he had gone and my mom had never explained it to me. So I had been left to conclude that I had not been wanted or loved in the way a child should be. With rejection always comes pain and I believed I had suffered enough pain in my life and it was foolish to go looking for more when I did not have to.

  So, I had gone back to my apartment and after seeing to the logistics of daily living I sat on my couch and watched television, or at least I looked at the television and let the sounds and light strike me. There was literally nothing I really wanted to do that evening. Even the masses of pornography that I had accumulated over the past seven months held no real interest for me. The bright light from the TV screen and from the computer screen seemed to have the same trigger effect on my brain, irrespective of what image was on the screen. Both types of bright screen, with their electromagnetic pulses, seemed to engage my brain against my will. Mindless, I thought. I felt ready for a more solid form of stimulation. I craved change. In fact, I felt on the cusp of a major change but one that I was not able to identify. Definite shifts were taking place, subtle changes reshaped my mind. Most refreshingly, I felt no fear. Normally I detested change; it unsettled me. In different environments the Shadowed Soul somehow managed to take a stronger hold of me. He would get his claws into the schisms of a different routine. I had always been resistant in this way, so much so that I wondered at times whether I had obsessive-compulsive disorder. However, now whatever change was coming felt like it could be momentous and good, something positive that would resonate throughout my life for years to come. I felt hope.

  As I basked in the warm euphoria that surrounded me it seemed entirely possible that I would recapture my previous life. Within a few months Beth and I could be living together again, with our dog and our son. There was really no reason why that should not be possible; she still loved me and I absolutely adored her. My illness was problematic and there would always be obstacles, after all Beth and I had lived together happily for a long time and I had always lived under the shadow, so it stood to reason that Beth and I could continue to build our family together.

  With this germ of a thought in my head I had no real reason why this episode of darkness had become bigger than usual. I speed dialed my wife. Her father answered. Our awkward small talk was not especially nasty or bitter. It was simply that between us an edge remained. He was guarding his most prize possession: His daughter. I felt confident that with time we could overcome it. While I waited for Beth I played with the soft fur on Bailey's head.

  “Thomas! How are you?” Beth’s voice was like salve to my soul.

  “Just wanted to hear you,” I said. Comforted, I sighed with gratitude.

  “How is your mom?” asked Beth.

  “No real change, I don't think she's improving. The doctor said hold off on physical therapy. She’s still too messed up.”

  “Oh, baby, I'm so sorry,” said Beth, her voice full of sympathy and love.

  “Why can’t I be like you, Beth?” I asked with admiration in my voice. Beth still believed that within my mother's atrophied heart there was an element of goodness. I tried to see her point.

  “You and your mom are too close, baby,” said Beth softly. “Forest for the trees! She’s damaged.”

  “So amazing, you forgive and forget,” I said. “But you didn’t grow up with it.”

  “Easy for me to say?” said Beth with a hint of irritation.

  “Beth, can I ask you a question?”

  “As long as it’s not geography,” she replied. We laughed at our usual throw-away line. Perhaps due to her visual impairment, Beth was indeed stumped by geography, although she was brilliant at so many other subjects.

  “I see. That's a pity because I was hoping to ask you what the capitol city of Outer Mongolia is,” I joked.

&nbs
p; “I always hear people talking about Outer Mongolia but I never hear anyone talking about Inner Mongolia,” said Beth. “If you have anything else you want to talk about I'm all ears.”

  “Okay.” I got serious. “Can I ask why this time has been so different?” There was a long pause and when she eventually spoke her voice sounded cagey.

  “What do you mean?” asked Beth cautiously.

  “Beth, I'm not trying to cause a fight,” I said defensively. “I only want to know why this time has been so different. I mean, we’ve been together for a long time, and this isn't the first time I suffered from depression. But you've never left me before. So, I just need to know, have I been particularly bad this time?”

  “You really don't understand, do you, Thomas?” Beth sounded amazed and slightly hurt at my question. I had literally no understanding of why that would be the case.

  “I said something to annoy you?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Jesus, Thomas, no, not really. You really baffle me.”

  “I'm sorry, Beth, I don't understand.”

  “That's what baffles me, Thomas! We could be together, or at least we could have been. But you did everything in your power to sabotage that. And I know you didn't mean to. I know it wasn't a conscious thing but you did.”

  “Did I?”

  “Think about, Thomas, of course you did. You could have come here and stayed with us but you chose to get all freaked out about it.”

  “Beth, that's not fair. I didn't choose to get freaked out,” I said defensively.

  “You began to panic,” said Beth softening her tone. “You did everything that you could to make it impossible for you to stay with us. I hate being apart but I don't want to live with you until you get a better grip, darling.”

  “I am. I'm seeing a counselor and it's great and I'm making huge steps forward, Beth,” I whined then stopped myself from speaking like a child to a grown woman. “Listen, I want you to come back, that's all I want. We've been together when I've been through this before and we always managed. I don't know what's so different now?”

  “What's different? Did you forget we have a son?” Beth’s tone was flat. “A baby boy, not a puppy. I don't want to bring him into an environment where his father struggles to spend time with him.”

  The penny dropped. The baby. That insufferable thing that intruded between my wife and me. Part of me despised the kid; irrational though that was. If we had no baby, then everything would be as it was. Beth would be able to deal with my depression and if she could do that then I would not have to be spending time and money for the stupid counselor. Mainly, I would not have to work so hard at improving myself.

  “I see, so you’re choosing him over me?”

  “Thomas, stop being such a fucking child, will you?” Beth’s voice escalated into harsh anger. “I don't choose him over you. I don't even believe that you said that, you selfish prick. You made your choice and that choice was you-you-you, Thomas, you over Jonathan and me. In fact, sometimes it feels like the only one of us that you love is Bailey and he's my fucking seeing-eye dog.”

  A gulf of silence swept the telephone line. Desperately, I grasped for words to right the situation. But there was nothing I could say.

  “He's my dog too,” I attempted to bridge the gap. Beth’s reply was the soft sound of heartbroken sobbing. Then gently, quietly and with terrifying finality the line went dead.

  The phone did not ring again. Beth had hung up on me. I had no control over the situation. Fear became rage unlike any I had felt before. With it came the desire to lash out. In fury I kicked my foot through the television screen. Sparks and glass flew everywhere but all I wanted to do was break something, shatter something physical in the same way that I had shattered my life. I picked a glass vase from the table, mother’s cheap wedding gift sent two weeks after our marriage. Its impact against the wall was almost perfect and shards scattered everywhere. I spun searching for something else to obliterate and saw Bailey cringing against the door, his tail tucked between his legs and his ears flattened. My dog looked at me with fear in his eyes. My anger vanished in an instant and I fell to my knees and held my arms out. Cowering, Bailey remained where he was for a long time before he found the courage to take a few trembling steps towards me, daring to trust. The hatred I felt for the world became a hatred that I believed I and I alone deserved. I opened my arms and he came and sat against my chest, his body shaking with adrenaline and fear. I hugged him and tried to soothe him and after a long time he settled down. He turned to lick my nose and that was when I began to cry. I buried my face in his side and wept for hours until the phone rang.

  “Beth?” I asked, hoping she had forgiven me.

  “Mr. Milton, my name is Staff Nurse Sato, I'm afraid I have bad news for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A sunny funeral seemed unfitting, especially for my mother. Mournful weather would have been more appropriate. It seemed wrong to bury her when the sun was shining and the birds were singing. I stood by the grave with my hands clasped awkwardly behind me. I was not sure whether there was a specific way that I, her only child, was meant to stand. For such an unfriendly woman quite a few people came to pay their respects: Many of a similar age interspersed by a handful of younger people. Beth and her parents came and offered condolences, then, they stood a tactful distance behind everyone else. It struck me on that day that my mother had never met Dorothy and Peter. In fact, my mother had met Beth a grand total of four times and none had ended well.

  What I found the oddest was the soft weeping around me. Who would waste energy to weep for my mother? This confused me. I found it almost impossible to believe that her passing would have any negative effect on anyone. Guilt crept through me. I should be crying, not some people I had never met. After all she was my mother and I felt almost childishly left out of the grieving process. Why the hell would these people give a flying fuck that my mother was gone? The priest spoke forever. I lost concentration. My mind drifted to the previous afternoon and my conversation with Sophie.

  “How do you think I feel?” I narrowed my eyes and looked at Sophie with something that resembled anger. “My mother died and I have a funeral to attend tomorrow! What would be a normal response?”

  “John, what have I told you about normal?” replied Sophie a patient voice which filled me with rage.

  “That it’s an illusion!” I snapped.

  “No, that’s not what I said, Thomas,” answered Sophie, smiling a little. “Conforming to what is said to be normal is comparative. That’s what I said. There are social norms that people have to adhere to, such as laws, but when it comes to emotional responses then the arena is wide open.”

  “I’m sad,” I snapped. “My mom died and I am sad that she’s gone.”

  “Okay.” Sophie nodded and paused leaving a silence I felt compelled to fill.

  “I’m angry too,” I said.

  “A lot of people get angry when they lose someone, Thomas, that’s not unusual.”

  “No, I’m angry that she’s gone and I never, ever found the courage to tell her how much I detested her and despised the way that she had been with me. I’m pissed that she’s gone and she never really understood how much she fucked me up as a person.” I paused and looked at Sophie. I knew that Sophie was not a fan of cussing. In fact she requested that her clients not curse. But in this case she ignored it so I continued. “If my mother had given me something like a normal life then the chances are that I’d be normal. And please, don’t give me any of that ‘what’s normal’ crap because I know that I’m not.”

  “No, you’re not normal, not in the broadest terms but, Thomas, but you are far from alone though. I mean there are almost 15 million people in the United States who suffer from clinical depression. I guess that won’t help you understand your own feelings but it does mean that you are not abnormal, not by a long shot.” Sophie sat back. “Your feelings about your mother and her passing are yours alone. So, if this anger towar
d her is making you feel guilty then you shouldn’t beat yourself up.”

  “I don’t feel guilty,” I said. However, the truth was I did feel guilty. I felt so bad for not having shed a tear for my mom. Her death was something that I didn’t want to have to face because she had been so much of a negative influence on me. And try as I might I could not dredge up one memory that could have legitimately been called good from the mire of my childhood. But at the end of the day she was still my mother and I felt alone. Even though she had been absent when I needed her most, the knowledge that she was no longer around was bitter pill.

  “Can I tell you something, Sophie?”

  “Of course you can, Thomas, that’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?”

  “I’m mostly angry because now that she’s gone I don’t have a focus for my anger and hatred. I detest what I am, Sophie. And when my mother was alive I had a target that I could use to diffuse the real depth of my anger but now I don’t have that.”

  “Is that such a bad thing, Thomas?”

  “What?”

  “Well, perhaps having a focus that effectively let you avoid looking at the real reasons for your illness was something that ultimately wasn’t helping you deal with it appropriately?” Sophie paused. Her face held its usual non-judgemental expression. “I mean, I know how the depression, or Shadowed Soul if you prefer to call it, affects you. But I don’t know if you have any real coping mechanisms in place. It’s something that we haven’t really discussed.”

  I stared blankly. I had no strategy to cope with my illness at all. There had been a few that I had attempted but given up on. They had no instant effect and the Shadowed Soul was pretty damned good at robbing me of patience. Alcohol sometimes gave short-term relief, but long-term made me feel worse. I could not imagine what my life would be like without the Shadowed Soul. Freedom did not appear to be an option. My conclusion was that often people are defined by elements of themselves of which they are not particularly fond. I feared I was defined by the Shadowed Soul. People thought of me as depressed and miserable. Although I longed to be free of the Shadowed Soul I was petrified that if the Shadowed Soul disappeared there would be nothing left to define me. Without the drama of him dogging my every move, I risked being seen as exceptionally dull. Sophie’s precise mind hammered deftly at my facade, one question at a time, each sending brittle cracks through the shell I had chosen to build around myself.