Page 119 of Breathe Again

“You can address it during your counseling this afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

I lay my head back down on my borrowed pillow. Nothing in here belonged to me. Nothing in here was my responsibility. There was no one in here to reflect. Here I did not exist.

She returned within five minutes and again knocked to announce her presence.

“Mara, he left something for you,” she paused. “I left it with your counselor, and you can collect it during your session in an hour. Is that all right?”

I sighed. “Okay.” I closed my eyes. That didn’t stop the tears from escaping.

Was I on drugs? I shuffled along the corridor to my appointment like an old lady. I’d have to ask if they drugged me.

“Hello, Mara,” the psych nurse smiled at me. She wore a nametag that had a terrible picture of her that did not do her justice. Her name was Marissa. I couldn’t wait to sit down so I didn’t.

“Am I drugged?”

“No, you’re not drugged anymore. You were given a sedative when you got here yesterday but that would have worn off early this morning. What makes you think you’re drugged?”

“I’m walking like an old lady. I feel like an old lady.”

“Why do you think that’s happening if it's not medication?”

“I feel really, so, very, tired.” I looked down at my lap. My limbs were so heavy. My arms hung uselessly at my sides.

“Got it in one. You’re exhausted.”

I looked up at her. “Yeah?”

She smiled. “Yes. You’ve been fighting a tough battle, with little support. I spoke to Erin; you signed a form saying we could access information from your other health providers when you started with her. She’s filled me in on some of your struggles.” She leaned toward me. “You’ve been a warrior.”

I snorted. “Then why am I here?”

She waved her hand nonchalantly. “Provisions. Supplies. Refueling.” She looked at her notes. “I see your husband has been here three times trying to see you. You didn’t want to see your husband?”

“No.” I paused. Marissa seemed kind, I loved kind people. I explained, “Well that’s not entirely true. It’s more that I don’t want him to see me. I also need to make a clean break from him. I’ve got nothing to offer him, and all he gives me right now is pain.” A wet drop of something hit my hands that I held folded in my lap. I looked down, confused. “The ceiling is leaking.”

“You’re crying.” She had the nicest smile. “You didn’t notice?”

I laughed. It sounded strange to me, out of place, but I wasn’t sure why. “No, it’s been as commonplace as breathing lately, I don’t notice that either.”

“You’ve got a bit of an emotional disconnect going on. We’ll get you back on track. Tell me about your husband.”

“He’s really sweet, works hard for us, he’s quiet and reserved, he’s a wonderful father, he’s the best person I know.” I paused, therewere really no words to describe him properly. “He deserves better than me. And it’s not healthy for me to love him the way I do. I don’t think we’re good for each other.” I told her about the need for sex and his control over it, the co-worker who hugged him and my reactions, at the bar and at home, and more importantly, his reactions. I had no boundaries. No subject was off limits.

“Why do you say his feelings are more important than yours?”

“Because mine are psycho?”

We talked for another forty-five minutes. She listened in a way that I felt heard. At the end of our session, she sat back and smiled at me. I really liked her smiling at me. People should smile more; we should be smiling at everybody. A smile is an actual gift. You never know who needs to receive one.

“I think you’ve got a lot to offer. Your husband had a session today, he consented to me sharing with you. Would you like to hear about his appointment?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I want to, I don’t want to want to.”

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