Page 173 of Tell Me Something True

“Have you?”

“They’re not as bad,” he said in answer. “I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack in weeks.” Not since the one he’d had in the car with her that night in Sonny’s parking lot. “If one does start, I use the 5-4-3-2-1 method you taught me. It helps.”

It’d helped more when she’d been there, but he didn’t want her to think the only reason he wanted to spend time with her was on the off chance he spiraled.

Her expression softened. “I’m glad. But that’s just one tool, there are others that might help you more. Have you considered therapy?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gone?” she asked when he remained silent.“No.”

She patted his chest, as if she could feel the rising tension inside of him. The way everything inside of him was clamping down with denial.

Wanting to keep his deepest secrets locked away.

“You know,” she said, “the stigma surrounding men getting help for their mental health has lessened over the years. No one is going to think less of you if you ask for help.”

“I know. That’s not why I haven’t gone.”

“Then why?”

“I just…” He stopped. Swallowed, then shook his head. He wanted to beg her to ask him something else. Something easier.

He’d never shared these particular fears with anyone.

Wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to.

But she was right. They were stuck.

And he really did want them to move forward.

“I haven’t gone because I don’t want to drag up the past. I don’t want to think about it. Don’t want to delve too deeply into why I spiral or what it means. I’m not sure I can handle it.”

“That’s valid. And completely understandable. But the pain inside of us won’t go away on its own. It needs our attention to heal.”

“I’m not sure whatever’s broken inside of me can be healed. And it’s easier to pretend I’m already whole.”

“I get that. But pretending can only take you so far.” Her smile was small and rueful. “Believe me. I know. After a while, being someone you’re not is exhausting. And not worth the effort it takes to keep up whatever persona you’ve adopted. Whatever lies you’re telling yourself. Or others.”

“I’m not lying to anyone. I’m just not telling everyone every thought or feeling I have.”

She raised her eyebrows. Kept her tone mild. “So pretending is only lying when I do it?”

He scowled. Opened his mouth.

Shut it.

Shit.

Called out again.

“I’ve been pretending and lying for so long,” he whispered, “I’m not even sure who I’ll be if I do heal. If I do start telling the truth.”

“You’ll be you,” she said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. The truest. “You’ll be confident and stubborn and proud. Impatient and overprotective and bossy.”

His eyebrows raised. “That’s quite the list. Did my family help you make it?”

She patted his chest again, this one a shut it and listen type of pat. “You’ll be you,” she repeated. “A man who loves his family more than anything. Who wants to keep everyone safe from all harm. Who, day after day, willingly puts his own life on the line for others.”

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