Page 29 of Bloom: Part 1

“Bloom, can you hear me? It’s okay. You’re safe here.” Dr. Simms’s voice, warm and steady, cut through the confusion. “I want you to focus on the room around you. See the furniture, the framed certificates on the wall, my face, the coffee table, those stacks of books on the shelf. Are you seeing it all, Bloom?”

I slowly raised my head, following his gentle prodding to ground myself into the present. A tremor ran down my spine, and I stretched my legs, straightening my posture.

“That’s very good,” Dr. Simms said. “Now tell me what you see.”

“Books.” My lips felt dry, so I licked them. I used the sleeve of my shirt to scrub my cheeks. “Your shoes. Coffee table.”

“And what about your feelings? Can you tell me what those are?”

Feelings. Why were feelings always so important to them? Didn’t they understand that feelings hurt? They made everything real when I just wanted to forget.

“Fear… Anger.” Painful memories threatened to pull me back into their dark embrace, but I fought against them with all my strength.

“It’s okay to feel those things. We are not here to judge or condemn. We’re only here to understand them. Can you tell me why you’re feeling fear?”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. “It’s almost November.” My chest tightened, and my breath came out in shallow pants. “I don’t want it to be November.”

“Why?”

Because November was when the instinct to kill became worse. It was the month I was least like myself. Or maybe the real me came out. The month when everyone tiptoed around mebecause the slightest disagreement might lead to a knife buried in someone’s throat. And the isolation came when the worst of it hit.

I would bet Dr. Simms had no idea what it felt like to be strapped down in a straitjacket, unable to do anything but let the monsters inside me ravage my mind.

But not all Novembers were bad. Maybe this one would be okay.

“I can’t escape the memories then,” I said simply. “I fear I’ll never be normal.”

“We try to avoid the word ‘normal.’ Everyone has their own uniqueness. What we’re hoping to achieve is a state that you’re comfortable with. We want you to feel in control, especially of your emotions. Why don’t you come over here and have a seat?”

I climbed to my feet and shuffled over to the sofa where I had been sitting before he put me under hypnosis. Dr. Simms remained seated across from me, his face a mask of understanding and patience. But how much did he understand? A fancy degree said he had the right to diagnose me, but how could he help me when he had no idea what I’d been through?

The rest of the time we talked about my feelings. He dug and pried, pulling one-word and short responses from me. The more he pressed, the more my chest tightened and my lungs constricted.

“I sense there’s something on your mind.”

I hated when he did that. When he saw right into my mind without an invitation. Usually, I would flat out deny it, but this was too important. I dug my fingers into my thighs.

“I want to talk about…”

“About what, Bloom?”

“Relationships.”

“What kind of relationships? With family? Friends?”

“Lovers.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve met someone—”

“Absolutely not!”

I flung my head back at the sharp objection. He closed the book on his lap with a thud.

“What do you mean, absolutely not?”

“You’re still too vulnerable to be involved with anyone intimately. You could undo all the progress we’ve made.”

I tilted my chin and glared. “But what if I don’t? What if he’s good for me?”

“I’m not willing to take those chances. You have a complex array of personality disorders. Your previous psychiatrist helped you a great deal to overcome the dependency you experienced with your brothers. From our conversations, I gathered you still exhibit signs, and I’m apprehensive that forming a close relationship will only make you fall back into the pattern of dependency on a partner. There’s a strong possibility what you feel for this person is not genuine but your disorder at work. This could lead to disastrous consequences.”

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