My heart was with a ghost.
T W E N T Y – T W O
ONE WEEK LATER,I’m lying on an unfamiliar sea-green sofa,my head resting upon a downy pillow. I’m staring up at a ceiling of white while a middled-aged woman sits beside me with a voice like a gentle lullaby, her hair wound into a loose knot. She makes me feel at ease, despite my jitters.
“Hello, Oliver. As you know, I’m Dr. Malloy and I’m a certified hypnotherapist. I’m here to help you with your memory loss,” she tells me, soft and lilting, almost mesmerizing.
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply, my fingers linked across my stomach.
After months and months of putting it off, I finally decided to seek out therapy. While Sydney and Gabe were enormous contributions to my mental and emotional recovery, I still feel like something is missing. I’m hopeful these sessions will unlock buried memories that will assist with my healing journey.
A smile greets me when I turn my head to the left. “I want you to relax, focus, and cast any fears aside. Hypnosis is perfectly safe, and the majority of my patients are hypnotizable, finding immense healing in the process. Roughly ten percent of those patients arehighlyhypnotizable, and they walk away with extreme breakthroughs.”
A nod accompanies my swallow.
“Every experience on this couch is different and personal. You can walk me through your goals and specific issues, and we’ll work together to ensure the most fulfilling outcome possible. How does that sound?”
“Lovely,” I reply in a whisper.
“That’s great, Oliver. Can you provide me with more details as to what you’re hoping to achieve today?”
I breathe in deeply, inhaling a pleasant lavender musk. It calms me. “I was abducted at eight-years-old by a man who held me captive in his basement for nearly twenty-two years. During that time, I was fed lies—lies I’ll never understand. The lies have blurred my memories with dreams and fantasies, and some I have no access to at all. I’ll experience glimpses into past events when something triggers me, but it disappears before I can truly relive it.”
Dr. Malloy makes a soft humming sound, pencil to paper. “That must be incredibly frustrating for you. Are there specific memories you are trying to uncover?”
“Yes, and no,” I respond. Then I choke out, “I’d like to see my mother again.”
“She has since passed away, I presume?”
“Ten years now, I’m told.”
“I’m very sorry to hear. I hope I can help you with that,” she tells me, her tone convincing. Dr. Malloy crosses one leg over her opposite knee, shifting in her recliner. “Hypnosis is a bit like reprograming your subconscious mind. An infiltration if you will. We want to move things around a little, try to shake up the way you think and react. And in your case, remember.”
“All right.”
“The process is similar to meditation in the sense that you will enter an element of increased awareness. You’ll be fully awake, but your mind will be hard at work—focused,” she explains thoughtfully. “Almost like a trance-like state.”
My eyes close slowly, then flutter back open. “I won’t be unconscious?”
“No, not at all. You’ll be in a state of profound concentration, but you’ll also be aware of what’s going on right here in this room. You’ll be entirely present.” She scribbles down a few more notes before continuing, “Are you ready to get started?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Very well.” A silence settles into the room, the only sound being my heavy breaths and the slight whoosh of the ceiling fan. “Oliver, I’d like you focus on your breathing as you raise your right hand just above your head.”
Perplexed, I do as she tells me, holding up my arm. I breathe in and out, concentrating on the way my chest rises and falls with each deep breath.
“Now, hold up your index finger and look at it. Concentrate on that finger, but don’t lower your arm.”
I stare at my finger.
“The longer you stare, it may seem like your other fingers are fading out, becoming a blur. You’ll feel your arm getting heavier and heavier.”
My arm begins to feel like it’s been tied with bricks as my gaze centers on that lone finger, my breathing still controlled and steady.
“Keep focusing on your finger, Oliver. Feel your arm drifting down as it gets heavier,” she says, her voice caught on an ocean wave. “Heavier…”
I’m drifting, weightless and light.