Page 127 of The Breaking Pointe
“Do you feel safe to talk about any of it? Your mother…or father?” she asks.
I briefly close my eyes, then look at her.
“I don’t feel unsafe, alright? There’s consequences to the real me. All it’s ever done was fuck up my relationships, and make people misunderstand me even more. I would rather not risk whatever good I have going.” I sit forward. “What’s left of it,” I scoff.
It’s the reason I lose everything—every time I’m myself, or tell the truth. I can’t do it without garnering questions of if I’m in my right mind. This topic makes me unsettled. My knee begins bouncing, and now my jaw is as tight as a hold on a stress ball.
“Would you rather move on?This topic doesn’t seem comfortable for you right now,” she says.
Bouncing my knee faster, I try to gulp down some saliva, feeling dry at the mouth.
“You know,” I start, sighing, “if I cried when I was a child, my father would never let me hear the end of it.It was criminal, to him, to show that side of myself.” I tightly clasp my hands together. “He made me believe that being sensitive wasn’t a good quality to have, and the truth is, I don’t know where to put my emotions right now.”
I never feel relieved when I’m being honest.Another reason to be angry. Along with all my other reasons.
“It sounds like you, too, believe that it isn’t masculine to feel your emotions,” she suggests.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, because I need to feelsome- thing,anythingmore than surface-level,” I state.
“You’re in control, Colton. Nobody else. Your father isn’t here to dictate when, or how you feel anything,” she replies, softening her voice to reassure me.
Isucktheinsideofmycheeks,feelingmyattitudeboil
inside, working its way to a bigger outburst.
“So who dictates when I get pissed off?Or when I become a psycho, jerk-off with no self-control, and I barely remember it?Who controls the anxiety and panic attacks, Dr, Lydia? I don’t seem to get a say in that part of myself…it just happens,” I say, stopping my words abruptly as I feel choked up.
I will not cry.
Iwillnotcry.
Dr. Lydia’s face goes dull, frowning at my words. “You’re allowed to feel those feelings, also. There doesn’t have to be a mastermind behind them.”
I lay a hand over my chest, feeling a familiar, electric-like sting rush through my chest.The blood feels like it’s rushing through my body faster, and my breath control is becoming useless.
“I used to be proud of being his son, you know,” I say quickly.“I would roam around and glorify him,” I add, forcing a smile as my eyes grow cloudy with tears. “Like a little brainwashed slave.” I shake my head quickly, sniffling and halting my lament. “He spent years building himself up for me to think of him as a big shot, but in seconds…he made me resent him.”
Dr. Lydia opens her mouth, ready to say something, but I can’t stop yapping long enough for her to get anything out. “And, to think,” I purse my lips, “a part of me still wants
him to be proud of me.Can you believe that?”I scoff.
“He was your father,” she stops me.“Your mind might be able to separate that, but your heart can’t always follow through—”
“Whynot?”Mywordssnapather.
Her chin jolts back at my sudden burst. “I wish I knew,” she says.
I bring my hands to my face to rub it aggressively, trying to make myself snap out of it, but it’s useless.
“Your mother would be proud of you…” She lowers her voice. I huff, standing up in a scramble.
“Yeah well—she’s not here,” I say plainly.
“We should take five, Colton—” She stands up, too, getting ready to stop me, but I make a break for the door.
“I have to go.I’m sorry, Dr.Lydia,” I interrupt her, rushing out the door.
It’s too late.No five minutes can change what I feel.I bottled it up and packed it so deeply that I have to let myself hit my breaking point.I don’t wanna hold it in anymore.It’s become painful, and it’s sucking the life out of me.
