Page 27 of Love and Other Mental Health Concerns
I yell for him, “Hey Nick,” he turns back, “It’s okay to not be sunshine all the time…to feel a little cloudy.” His shoulders rise a little and that half smile returns under a beard now mussed from his stress.
“Okay Marcy, I’ll try and remember that.” And he walks out the door.
Maybe he and I have more in common than I thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nick
I don’t know if I walk, run, or take a spaceship back to my hotel from the festival.
Although I have managed to shake off most of the panic I am feeling, my brain still feels foggy and unfocused. Add to that, the embarrassment of having a panic attack in front of Marcy, and I am feeling compelled to throw myself into that lovely hotel bed and re-emerge when this assignment is over.
Whatever the intention of my parents, their presence always floods me with feelings of inadequacy, and I know that allowing those doubts to take over won’t end well. Time and time again, that trigger has landed me in the bed of someone I didn’t care to be with, or in a physical fight with the next asshole I happened to stumble across in the local bar. The validation offered in the lusty gaze of some woman or the crack of a nose on some moron made me feel strong and made me feel worthy in a way that had been long neglected by the people I needed that validation from the most.
Something is changing in me though, and has been for some time. I gave up the bar fighting in my twenties, and the hook-ups have dwindled to nothing since months ago. The momentary ego boost from those rash experiences scratched a certain itch at one time, but that time has gone. I now lack the impulses but amclearly missing some coping mechanisms to effectively manage these self-doubts.
The problems aren’t new, the anger at the dissolution of the relationship with my parents having emerged when I was a teen. It was at that time that I was introduced to my therapist, Patricia, through some guidance counselor at my private high school. The anger had started showing up in sports and recreational activities at first, but it wasn’t long before I was lashing out at teachers and students within the classroom. Naturally, my parents were mortified to add “needs therapy” to the growing list of ways that I disappointed them, making them reluctant to take that advice. Their minds quickly changed however, after I chose to urinate in the fountain in front of their country club when I was sixteen. Since I chose to do it in front of all their friends after being forced through an Easter brunch, they didn’t have a choice in the matter. To be fair, I had just overheard them telling a group that I was planning to spend the summer interning at my dad’s business, a bold lie that I couldn’t stomach. I still don’t feel bad about it, especially since peeing in that fountain got me introduced to Patricia.
Clearly, I am no longer an adolescent, and since Patricia treats both teens and adults, she has been willing to meet with me throughout the years as needs have arisen. She’s no nonsense, and I’m guessing at some points her “tough love” approach with me isn’t exactly the clinical standard, but she’s effective. I’ll give her that. She’s well into her seventies at this point, and only keeps a few clients on her roster, but is otherwise retired and takes our appointments by video from Palm Springs.
Although it’s getting late, I message her to see if she is available to chat tonight. She answers right away, the two-hour time difference between Minnesota and California making my request only slightly less obnoxious. Reliable Patricia is ableto meet within thirty minutes of my request, which she will undoubtedly find a way to charge extra for.
I answer her call in my pajama pants and a hoodie from the comfort of my hotel bed.
“Good evening Patricia.” She answers the call from what appears to be the inside of a tiny Costco. Packed shelves surround her, filled with bulk pantry items and baskets of root vegetables. She is wearing a hot pink sweater that coordinates with her lipstick, and her white hair is curled away from her face; a face clearly wrinkled by sunshine, smiling, and the occasional cigarette.
“Nicholas, same to you. It’s been years since you made an SOS type request, so I will waive the additional fee.” There it is.
“Well, thank you Patricia, that really is too kind. Question for you though, are you in a bomb shelter of some kind? Do you need rescuing?” She gives me an eye roll and a smirk.
“Bomb shelter? No, but I am hiding in my daughter’s pantry. I told her I would come help babysit her kids for a couple days and let’s just say I’ll think twice in the future. You didn’t call to talk about me though, so what’s going on?”
“I had a difficult day, unexpectedly.” I start to explain.
“Well, yeah, the hoodie tells me that. You look like the Unabomber on vacation.” She ribs me, which I appreciate. This was how she initially got me to open more when I was teen. “Tell me about it Nick, what is going on today?” I breathe deeply, still a bit frazzled.
“I ran into my parents, out at a festival in the town I am currently working in. I happen to be in Minnesota on this job, and they never even called me back when I reached out to try and see them.” Patricia already knows this isn’t a new behavior for my parents.
“How have you been feeling about their lack of communication lately?”
“Honestly? I think I still feel hurt when they can’t put in the effort to even text me back…and then I feel mad at myself for still feeling hurt after all these years. Like I should have gotten over it by now or something.”
“Should have gotten over your parents not actively engaging with you?”
“Yeah, I know what you are going to say. They are my parents, any rejection coming from them is going to hurt.”
“Something like that, yes.” We had only discussed their rejection of me hundreds of times, I know what she’s thinking.
“It’s just that most days I feel like I have accepted that I can’t change who they are, and what our relationship has become, and other days it’s still really hard. Today was just one of those fucked up days.”
She reaches out of view of the camera and her arm returns with a box of crackers that she starts munching on immediately. “Speak more about that though, what happened today that made seeing your parents, and their rejection, more painful than usual?”
I sit up straighter in bed, pull the hood off my head, and think for a moment. The answer is obvious. “You aren’t going to like my answer, but you need to let me explain.”
“Ugh shit, Nicholas, not another girl. We have been over this, a roll in the sack is not going to fix this problem.” Patricia gives me an eye roll as she dips her crackers in dip that has suddenly appeared.
“I said let me explain! This girl…uh, woman actually, is really different, Patricia. I have never felt this way about anyone, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I haven’t even been with another woman in months.”
