Page 27 of Love Under Construction

Swallowing hard I recount how it all unfolded, “I’m still running every day with Peaches. I’ve been practicing yoga in the gym at my building. But it’s still there.”

“You’ve talked a lot about Jameson in each of our sessions. Tell me why you think you hate him so much.”

I pause. “I’m not sure that it matters now.”

“I disagree. If Jameson is always around, getting to the source of your feelings for him may help you move on.”

“Well, that’s just it. He’s not around anymore, and he won’t be coming back.”

“What do you mean? I thought, you just said he was over last Friday and how he helped you relax.”

“And then I told him he needed to leave. I told him he was one of the sources of my anxiety and it was best if we avoided each other.”

Laura’s silent, her face expressionless as she takes in what I’ve just said.

Meanwhile, I go back to her original question. Why do IthinkI hate Jameson?

When I was five, and my parents went away for a few days for the first time that I could remember. I had a nightmare, and only Jameson heard me. Seven years old, and he came into the room and sat by my bed, holding my hand, the entire night. Jameson snuck out early the next morning before his parents got out of bed. Later that day, he buried myheadlessBarbies in the backyard.

At eight, one of the mean kids at school stole my favorite stuffed animal. Jameson rescued Mousey and gave my stuffie a bath to clean her up, and returned my stuffy to me in an entirely different color. I know now it wasn’t all his fault. Mousey wasn’t made to take baths, and the dye on her ran. Eight year old me, though he did it on purpose and hated him for it.

On the way to his house after school when I was thirteen, and my parents were out of town again, my period arrived unexpectedly. Jameson gave me his sweatshirt to tie around the back of my pants. I was too embarrassed to say anything to his mom or ask for help, seemingly reading my mind, Jameson tugged me inside the corner drug store, told me to pick out what I needed then shewed me out the door while he paid for everything. When he came out, he slipped it all in my bookbag so no one would see it. I found a chocolate bar in the bag when we got back to his house.

I tried to thank him for it, and he told me to quit PMSing.

My freshman year at college, I had a panic attack on the first day. Hid in my dorm room and called...you guessed it, Jameson. He dropped everything he was doing and came to my rescue with a bottle of water, a warm hug, and the reminder tojust breathe. He spent the entire semester reading every self-help book on panic attacks that he could find and in many ways became my pseudo-therapist.

I’m sure there were several other events between thirteen and twenty-two when Jameson tried to keep me from driving drunk after a bad break up. He followed behind me in his car, took me home when I did a little off-roading in my dad’s car and had the damn thing repaired before my parents came back home. That one, I’m still not sure he'd let me live down. Not that I blame him.

Still, I hated him.

“Because he knows too much,” I blurt out. “That’s why I hate him. He’s seen me at my absolute lowest.” I finally confess. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life depending on him to be my rock. For twenty-eight years now I did that with my dad and look where that got me.”

“Oh, Olivia. We’re talking two different people and two different relationships here.”

“Jameson doesn’t deserve to have to care for me the rest of his life.”

“Care for you how?” Laura questions.

“Like this. Picking me up when I’m down. And what if later on, I get cancer. He’ll have to care for me then too.”

“He’s been the one constant, outside of your parents. I don’t think he’s going anywhere anytime soon,” Laura offers.

“For one thing, they all do. Every boyfriend had run away when shit got tough. For another thing, Jameson isn’t coming back this time. I pushed too hard, and I know it.”

“Now, we’re making progress. I knew there was more to the story then you simply hate Jameson. Others have hurt you, and you’re afraid he will too. So it’s easier not to give him a chance.”

“Laura, I know this is why you get paid the big bucks, but I don’t like it when you’re right.”

Laura laughs, “It’s my job to call it as I see it, Olivia, and I think you’re being unfair to Jameson.”

“Aren’t we here tofixmy anxiety?” I groan and roll my eyes like a teenager.

“It all ties together, especially with the role Jameson has played in your anxiety in the past. And blaming him for your anxiety wasn’t fair or productive. Even if I thought those words were true, Olivia, haven’t we talked about not avoiding things that trigger the anxiety but rather working through them?”

I really hate it when she’s right. “What am I supposed to do? Everyone I let in walks away or hurts me.” I question out loud. “The thought of being in a relationship gives me anxiety.”

“To overcome it, sometimes you have to face those fears. Avoidance won’t solve anything.”

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