Page 63 of The Darkness Within

He’s wearing that stupid grin again. The infuriatingly charming one that makes him look kissable. The one that means I said something amusing, and that he’s falling for me.

“What?” I may sound annoyed, but inside, I’m hiding a grin just as huge and silly.

“Nothing, I just love how you’re becoming a part of their community. Where’s Leif?”

“With Brandt. Right about now, Leif is recounting the horrors of his short life. How he started as an orphan seed, and then went to live in the orphanage with all the other orphan seeds until he was sold to the highest bidder. He’s had a very traumatic start.”

Now he’s full-on laughing at me. The overhead lights twinkle in his eyes, and they crinkle at the corners. Brewer Marx is a beautiful man, inside and out. What I wouldn’t give to make him mine, not that I have much to give. But if I did…

His laughter dies off, but his smile remains. “You ready to get started?”

Why am I so fucking nervous? “Do you really think this is gonna work?”

“I do. Seventy to ninety-five percent of patients who undergo this therapy achieve reduced recurring episodes, and many have reported zero episodes.”

“I can’t imagine what that would feel like, complete and total freedom. But I’ll take anything. Have you undergone this therapy?”

“I have. Several times. That’s why I know it’s safe for you.”

“Did it work for you?” Please say no. Please say no. I’m afraid to hope.

Brewer sighs. “I can’t help my subconscious thoughts, like when I’m dreaming and I have nightmares. But I often don’t remember them when I wake up. After completing the last therapy, which was my fourth treatment, I have not experienced any conscious episodes, where I lose time, with one foot in the present and one in the past, nor have I completely regressed. Sometimes, I’m still triggered, but it’s mostly just thoughts and memories. I can deal with those using the coping tools I’ve learned.”

“Then I’m ready,” I say with conviction.

“The good news is that you’ve already completed three of the eight steps. Mostly just assessments and intake questions since I already know so many details about your traumatic experience, like locations, time and date, names, and the sequence of events. I still have a couple of questions, though, like your main triggers.”

Scrubbing my face, I breathe out tiredly. “I don’t know, seems like everything triggers me. More so when I’m tired or already on edge with anxiety. The smell of dirt and earth. Anything musty and stale or dank. Small, dark, confined spaces. The smell of anything rotting, like garbage and food, especially meat.” Just thinking about it makes a wave of nausea roll through my stomach. “Barking dogs. That’s a huge one for me. Probably gunfire, but I haven’t heard any since I’ve been home. Anything that tastes cold and metallic.” Brewer picks up his notepad and pen and begins to write down my triggers. “I don’t like being tied up or having my hands bound. I fucking hate rats, and the smell of piss.”

He looks up from his notes. “That’s a great start. You display fifteen of the seventeen classic symptoms of complex PTSD, everything but the hyperarousal and the autoimmune conditions.”

“Hyperarousal,” I scoff, “I wish.”

Brewer smiles knowingly. “I think the autoimmune stuff is caused by prolonged heightened anxiety, which thanks to your prolific drug use, numbed most of it.”

“You mean it was good for something?”

His sardonic expression tells me he’s not amused. “I’m going to begin by running through deeper, more elaborate descriptions of your triggers.” He grabs a pen from the small table beside his chair and clicks the tip. A small, focused laser light shines from the tip. “Follow this penlight with your eyes, keeping your concentration on the light.” Brewer stands and crosses to the switch on the wall, dimming the lights low, but not off completely. “I know you don’t like the dark, but this isn’t an enclosed space and I’m here with you. It will help you to focus on the light instead of your surroundings or me.”

“Are you trying to hypnotize me?” I ask jokingly.

“This is not hypnotherapy. I just want you to feel relaxed and open, but you are in complete control of your mind. I’m going to suggest replacement words for some of the ones that trigger you to try to retrain your thinking. Just follow my lead.

“Let’s start with some breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth, hold it for the count of three.”

After two minutes of breathing, Brewer raises the penlight, moving it left to right, and I follow it with my eyes for another minute before we begin.

“Dirt. Earth. Underground. Tunnels.” He pauses for a moment, and I continue to follow the light. “Enriched soil. Seedlings. Healthy plants. Flowers and trees.” Then he moves onto the next trigger word. “Musty. Stale. Dank. Cell. Dark. Confined.” Brewer pauses again. “Fresh. Clean. Bright. Spacious. Alive. Life. Lemon-fresh.”

He never stops moving the light from left to right. “Are you seeing and feeling these words?”

“Yes. I can smell them.”

“Good. Let’s continue.”

He follows through the long list of my triggers, describing each one in depth, listing every possible variation that I could associate with them, and then replacing them with opposite words, healing words. The stark contrast is like night and day, and I can feel the words, I can smell them, like a sensory experience, both the good and the bad ones.

It’s very possible the next time I’m caught in a memory with one of these descriptions, my brain might switch over to some of the positive reinforcement words, instead of latching on to all the negative ones. Not guaranteed, but very possible. Like Brewer said, it’s a repetitive therapy, and I have to retrain my brain.

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