by D. B. James
I’m thankful to find the house blissfully empty. I may have vowed to talk in my appointment, but it doesn’t mean I’m ready to face my parents.
Three cups of coffee later, I walk into Dr. Beesley’s office to find complete and utter chaos. There’s a young man behind the desk instead of Gabby, phones ringing off the hook, two patients waiting near the check-in desk, and a dog. Yes, oddly there’s a dog in her office. Instead of waiting in line, I lean over in front of the beautiful redhead and sign my name on the sheet. There’s no need for me to bother the busy man behind the desk. All my information is on file and I’ve only ever needed to sign in before.
Sitting down, I browse through the newest gossip magazine, not paying attention to one word of what it says. The dog, who’s actually with the redheaded girl, comes over and lies down near my feet. He must be tired. It seems like he’s the calmest thing in the office besides me. “It’s crazy in here huh, bud?”
“His name is Dog, I like to call him Rusty Sprockets. My boyfriend gave him a lame name like Dog. He must have sensed you’re an animal lover, or he wouldn’t have laid down near you. Sorry if he’s bothering you,” the girl says as she walks over toward me.
“He’s no problem at all. I was only saying to him how crazy it is in here today,” I tell her.
“Yes, it is. I’m Morgan. Like I said already, this giant guy here is Dog. I didn’t realize Gabby wasn’t in today and we were in the area and stopped by to see her. Looks like we picked a bad day all around,” she informs me.
“The poor guy behind the counter looks frazzled. I’m Tenley, and don’t take this the wrong way...it’s nice, but slightly odd to meet you.” Because you know, it is. I mean, I’m in my shrink’s office. It’s odd to meet someone new in their office, true? And wait a second, did she say her name was Morgan? Red hair, crazy beautiful, young…she has to be Savannah’s niece.
Laughing lightly, she replies, “No offense taken, it is strange. Gabby enjoys visiting with Dog, I thought she’d enjoy seeing him, but she’s out sick today. He had puppies a few years back and she adopted one. My boyfriend, Harrison, stops in with Dog to see her from time to time. I’ve been tagging along the last few times.”
“It’s sweet. I’ve always wanted a puppy, but never gotten one. Maybe someday it’ll happen. I’m afraid at the moment, I wouldn’t be able to keep a plant alive let alone an animal.” I can barely keep myself alive.
Before she can reply, Dr. Beesley opens the door to call me back for my appointment. As I’m getting up, Morgan stops me with a gentle hand at my wrist. “Hey, Tenley?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to grab lunch sometime? It’s probably totally bizarre, but something tells me you could use a friend.” Case said the same thing yesterday. Do I wear it written across my forehead? Does it blink on and off? Need friend, need friend, need friend.
“Um...okay, sure.” Quickly rattling off my number, I proceed to make my way over to Dr. Beesley. I’ll have to text Vannah and ask if Morgan has a boyfriend named Harrison to know positively if this is her Morgan. Storing away the information for later, clutching my purse, I push my way through the door leading back to Dr. Beesley’s office.
Taking my normal seat in her office, I toss my purse down on the floor, forgetting I needed to grab Michael’s letter from inside to show her before I can talk about anything else. Sighing, I reach for it. Today needs to be over already. I’d love a redo of the last week. Scratch that, the last three years. If I erase the last three years I could go back and be with my husband before he gets diagnosed and spend his last few months with him, loving him, caring for him.
“I see you’ve met Morgan and Dog; I’m quite surprised you haven’t before now. She or Harrison bring him by the office a few times a month. Or did you already know her?” she asks as I’m opening my purse searching for his letter. I could’ve sworn I placed it precisely on top. Where the hell did it go?
“Oh, yeah. I mean, no. Wait, what?” I’m confused, what did she ask me again?
“Tenley, what are you trying to find?” she asks.
“A letter from my dead husband.” It’s in here somewhere. “Michael left me a letter, but I brought it for you to read because I have way too fucking much to say about what he said. Now I can’t find the damn thing!” I’m sort of screaming at her. Did I leave it on the kitchen island? It doesn’t make any sense because I remember putting it back in my purse at the beach yesterday and I haven’t removed it since. Not once. His other letter I’ve left in my nightstand drawer where hopefully no one will find it.
“Why don’t you take a deep breath and stop searching for a moment? I’d like you to put your purse aside and inhale, Tenley. One large deep inhale. Concentrate on the sound of my voice,” she instructs.
Doing as she says, I toss my purse aside, close my eyes, and take a deep breath in.
“Great, hold it for a few seconds. Now, exhale.”
Doing exactly as instructed I feel much better in the few seconds it’s taken to take a simple deep breath.
“Great job, Tenley. And now out with the bad,” she coaches.
Before she can tell me to repeat myself, I take another breath in. Hold it for fifteen seconds and release it. Already I feel calmer. What set me off was Morgan saying it looked like I needed a friend. It’s basically word for word what Case said to me not twenty-four hours ago. Granted, I’m positive I could use a new friend or two. My best friend was ripped from my life without my permission. I’m off kilter without him. After a few deep breaths, I feel more like this shadow of myself again.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you and for freaking out. It’s been a rough couple of days to say the least. Strange doesn’t begin to cover what’s been happening,” I say.
“Would you like for me to see if I can find what you were searching for? Or would you like to try searching again now when you’re a bit calmer?” she suggests.
Good question, doc. “I’m positive I’ve overlooked it. I placed it there yesterday afternoon and haven’t removed it since. It should still be there.” Now when I’m not as freaked out, maybe I can actually find what I’m searching for. It feels like I’ve lost my fucking mind and not merely his letter. Hopefully, both are in my purse when I open it this time. Taking another deep breath, I grab my purse to search again and see the letter sitting on top. It fucking figures. Now I not only feel insane, I know I am.
“I’ve found it. I’d like for you to read it,” I admit.
Nothing like making a complete and total ass of yourself, Tenley.
Handing it over to her, I feel like a hundred-pound weight has been lifted from my chest as she quickly scans over the contents. It feels like I’ve handed over my burden to someone other than myself. Why didn’t I feel the same when I handed it over to mama and daddy? Maybe because they knew him and Dr. Beesley didn’t.
“Do you feel like he killed himself because of you?” The moment she asks it, all the air leaves my lungs and I feel myself begin to panic again. The weight a moment before I felt was lifted comes hurtling back.
“Before you start to overreact, take a deep breath again; I see the answer to my question in your reaction. Let me ask you this then…would you have stayed with him through his sickness if given the chance?” she inquires.
“Why would you ask me a question so stupid? Of course, I would have. I meant my vows when I took them. I would’ve loved him in sickness and in health with no questions asked. It was his choice to leave me. Not mine to leave him. When he killed himself, he killed a part of me. Knowing what I do now completely slays me. How could he have gone through what he did alone, without me? Instead of pulling me closer when he needed me, he pushed me away. He was killing himself before he truly killed himself!” I scream out. And this time I mean to yell at her. What kind of right does she think she has to ask such a vile thing?
“The problem you have most with this letter is his taking the choice from you? His choosing to hide his sickness when he found out t
here was no cure? It’s what you’re saying, correct?” she asks.
“Hell, yes, it’s what I’m saying. After over two years of believing my husband died in a plane crash, I find out he was dead before he stepped foot on the plane. He planned his death. He knew he was leaving me before he left me. And he never told me. Not one word. I knew of the headaches but nothing more. They went away and he was moving on. He told me he was feeling better! Clearly, he wasn’t. He was worse. How could I have lived in the same house and slept in the same bed as him and not have seen he was dying? For months! Damn months. I’ve been a fool. His letter proves to me that I was and continue to be, a fool. I’m a fool for dying with him when he died because I loved a lie. The last few months with him I was living a lie. And now I’ve lost precious moments of my life. Moments I can never get back because I’ve been a fool. My parents are older, I’m older. I’ve lost friends, my career, I’m a shell of who I used to be all because of a damn lie.”
“This one letter is enough to erase twelve years’ worth of love? He may have lied about his illness, but from the way you’ve spoken about him in our past sessions, he sounds like he was a wonderful man. A man who was worthy of your love. A man I feel from reading this letter kept it from you to protect you. He shielded you from his sickness. In my opinion, this letter shows how much he loved you. He didn’t want you to see him die, therefore he did the only thing he knew to make it easier on you. He died swiftly instead of slowly. I think he waited this long for the letter to come to you to give you time to heal from his death. He believed in the time he provided, you’d have moved on. If you had come to me for help before now, you would have been healing. This letter wouldn’t have come as such a shock to you. It would have been received in love and not in anger. What did you do after you read this? Cry? Yell? Throw something? All of the above? All of those actions are considered healing and grieving actions. If you would’ve been further on in your healing process the anger wouldn’t have been this consuming. You would have felt more love in your heart and if you threw something, you may not have thrown it. He mentions another letter...did you receive one?”
All of her questions make me dizzy. Choosing to ignore most of them I answer the last one since it’s the easiest. “Yes, it’s more of a note than a letter, and it’s extremely personal.”
She nods her head in understanding and stares at me waiting for me to continue. I’m not sure why I feel intimidated by her stare but I do. Consequently, I give her more words. “I threw a glass against the wall, and when it shattered, it felt fucking amazing. Therapeutic. Those pieces of glass felt like the pieces of my heart lying broken on the floor. The way it made me feel not only hurt but felt great. Screaming felt great. The tears I cried at first weren’t tears of heartbreak but of anger. Now, I’m heartbroken. The night I read it, I was incredibly angry, but more at myself. Now, I’m still angry at him but I’m heartbroken. Used. Foolish. Ridiculous. And a whole thesaurus full of words you can use to call me stupid. That’s how I feel.” My words are flying out, but it’s the truth. I do feel stupid, ignorant, and foolish.
“My dear, you’re not stupid. It’s not your fault he chose to take his own life. It’s no one’s fault but his own. He’s the only one who can answer for that. What I do know is you are in no way stupid. I know no matter what you say, this letter doesn’t erase the love you had for Michael. If anything, it makes you feel more love for him. It’s why you’re angry with him. You’re angry because you loved him so much and he took everything from you when he died. Now is the time you start living for yourself again, Tenley. You know this. It’s why you’re here seeing me. It’s why you’re taking the steps to get better. To be yourself again. To find your happiness. And you will get there. It’s not a race.”
It’s not a race. Her last words echo throughout my head over and over again.
It’s not a race. It’s not a race. It’s not a race.
It’s like they’re on a never-ending loop.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
“Am I crazy?” I whisper, not truly wanting her to hear, but yet wanting her to hear it all the same.
“No. You’re not crazy. You’re depressed and a tiny bit lost. But we’re working on it all. You’re going to be fine, Tenley. Trust me to help get you there,” she says.
“I do, it’s why I’m here. I may not have been opening up much, but I’ve been working on it. It’s taken a while for me to get used to the idea of seeking help. Once I was here, it took longer for me to adjust to accepting it and for acting like such an ass, I’m sorry.”
“No apology is necessary. It’s another thing I’d like you to work on. Stop saying you’re sorry. Eliminate those words from your vocabulary. Also, try something that scares you. It could be opening your laptop and writing fifty words, or it could be painting your nails a bright neon color. Anything. It doesn’t have to be huge, it can be small. As long as it’s something scary to you. Take a risk, Tenley. Since we don’t see each other for a few days, try doing it before we meet again. And work on not saying you’re sorry. We’re making progress, even if it doesn’t seem like it to you.”
Taking in another deep breath which seems to rattle my rib cage, I nod my acceptance. How the hell am I going to stop saying ‘I’m sorry’? It appears I’ve been apologizing for things as long as I can remember.
“All I can do is promise to try. As far as doing a thing scary to me, I have a few ideas in mind. Therefore, I believe it’s attainable.”
Leaving her office, my troubles may not be lifted, but I feel a bit...lighter.
At peace.
Since my appointment this morning with Dr. Beesley, I’ve been thinking of experiences I find scary. Ones I could try and possibly do. Making a list seems like the easiest way to tackle this issue. Maybe if I make a list, I can check a few things off of it.
Here goes nothing, Tenley.
Flying. For obvious reasons, a thing I used to love now scares me shitless. I haven’t taken one single step toward an airplane since Michael’s death. My publicist flew here the last time we met. The meeting I was supposed to be traveling to her for, in New York, around the time my last book was due to release. Since I never met the deadline, and she’s granted me extension after extension, I haven’t had to step foot in an airport, let alone an airplane. If my destination can’t be met by car, I often don’t go. Not like I have anywhere to go anyway.
Getting a tattoo. I love the appearance of them, I’ve always wanted one, but there’s one teeny tiny factor keeping me from getting one. My fear of needles cripples me whenever I think twice about getting a piece of art branded on my skin. Let’s not discuss getting blood work done when it’s needed for medical reasons. The phlebotomists hate me and would probably love it if I took a Xanax before coming in. I bet they flip a coin in the back for who has to take me on as a patient since I’m such an incredibly bad one.
Writing. Don’t get me wrong, I know the irony. One would think as an author the last thing I’d be afraid of is writing. But it terrifies the hell out of me. What if no words flow from my fingers? What will I do then? I’m grateful for an understanding publicist and editor who both believe in me and have never lost faith in me despite my lack of words. But they’re not going to wait forever. My backlog of work won’t keep selling and putting food in my mouth. I need to get over this idiotic fear.
Snorkeling. Who wouldn’t love to see what beauty lies under the ocean's depths? Me, I guess, since it scares the living shit out of me. What if I try to breathe and my lungs fill with water? Every negative thought runs through my head and cripples me from trying this. I know it’s safe and all but there’s always a slim possibility I’d be the one who something horrible would happen to. I’d be the one statistic articles are written about.
Dying my hair. For the last couple of years, I’ve wanted to have a vivid color put in my honey colored tresses. The opinion of others is what terrifies me. They’ll probably take one glance at me and think I’m too old to try such a bold
look. Others’ opinions of me always keep me from doing ideas I think I’ll love. It’s ingrained from disappointing my father as a child. If he wouldn’t approve, I don’t do it.
Riding a motorcycle. Not necessarily driving one, but as a passenger. I’d love to feel the sensation of freedom...the wind flowing through my hair...no worries at all. Seeing people ride them, it looks like they’re experiencing a moment of pure bliss. Being that free terrifies me. If you’re in an accident, there’s no seat belt or airbag to save you.
Eating lobster. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I live on the gulf. How could I not have eaten lobster? Well, I haven’t. It creeps me the frick out. I’ve heard them scream when they're cooked. It’s scarred me for life. I’ve yet to bring myself to try it. All I hear when I look at them is their screams. Trust me, it’s not a thought you want to be having when trying to eat one.
To some my list may seem insignificant, small, maybe even petty. But to me, the events listed are huge, gigantic, and scary.
Maybe Case could help me with my fear of needles and give me a tattoo. A small one. I’ve always wanted a small one behind my ear of The Deathly Hallows. It’d let my inner nerd rejoice, but my fear of needles has kept it from happening for years. I’ve had the design picked out for at least ten years. If only I could take the one small step. The one huge step.
Opting for the safest of them all, I head toward my bedroom. Once inside, I stand near the foot of my bed, entirely and utterly frozen in fear. My laptop sits on the desk staring back at me. Shit. Guess this wasn’t the safest option. Fuck. Why can’t I lift the lid? It’s like it’s the heaviest of weights. Why does it stare back at me like it’s laughing? Taunting me. Mocking me. Ridiculing me. Like it’s saying, “Your words won’t be worthy enough, Tenley. Keep my lid closed.”
How can the one thing I used to find comfort in, be the one bringing me such pain? Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cell phone and before I realize what I’m doing, I send a text to Case.