Page 23 of Breathe Again

I looked away. “No, I don’t talk about that.”

“Is there anything you can explain about it?”

I got angry then, thinking he’s probably a sexual deviant and he’s going to get off on this. I felt violated all over again.

“I don’t talk about that.” I met his eyes then and he changed his direction.

“Do you ever hurt yourself?”

Oh, God. If he finds out I’m insane he’s going to take my child. Be brave, Mara. If you’re not good for them, they should take them away from you.

“Sometimes.”

“Do you feel empty, Mara?”

Something about that rang true but it wasn’t quite right.

“I don’t know. I feel like water. I don’t have my own skin; I’m defined by whatever contains me. I don’t have a solid substance. I change to suit the containment. Not empty, exactly. I reflect.”

“Tell me about your sadness. When was the last time you felt happy for months at a time?”

“Months?” I thought about it. Who’s happy for months at a time? “For months in a row, I think it would be back when I was first dating my husband.”

By the time the appointment ended I was once again composed, but that was to be short-lived. Leaving behind his outer scientist, he sat back and studied me with kindness.

I relaxed back in my seat. I enjoyed kindness. I could roll around in kindness. Turn my face to it like it was sunshine in April.

I revered kindness.

“You have moods,” he paused, “but I’ll get back to this. You don’t have major clinical depression; you have Persistent Depressive Disorder. You’ve been sad for a long time. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

I was startled; startled, scared and a tiny bit thrilled.

He sees me.

I’m here, I exist, I am seen.

I couldn’t remember the last time I felt seen. He saw my sadness. My sadness was my failure. My job was to make a happy home, setthe tone, create warmth and happiness within our walls. Why should I even be sad? I had everything.

“There’s no medicine for this. The antidepressants do not work with this type of depression. If you’re suicidal…”

“I’m not.” I cut him off. He’s going to put me in the hospital. Oh, my Lord!

“I'm just saying if you were…”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t do that to my family.” I leaned toward him, looking directly into his eyes.

“I believe you. I believe you, Mara. I’m giving you information only, in that if you ever were, I could give you medication.”

“Okay, but I’m not.” I wanted to be sure he understood this.

“I believe you.”

I took a breath. Leaned back into my chair again. Took another breath.

“About the moods, I believe you have Borderline Personality issues. Not the full-blown diagnosis…”

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