Page 96 of Heart Thief

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I FOREGO Ataxi, and walk the streets of San Francisco, my head down, my sunglasses firmly in place.

The tears won’t stop. They. Won’t. Stop.

I don’t want to go home to my apartment. If I do, I’ll spiral even further into darkness and I’m not sure I’ll have the will power to escape.

I need to stay outside, keep walking.

I’ve never felt this way before and I don’t know what to do. I need help. I’ve known it for a while, but I’m finally admitting it to myself, head on. Not even the fresh air or sunshine can shake my mood. The Great Big Dark has taken me over.

After walking for over an hour, I pull out my phone and search my contacts. I know what I need to do.

Seek help.

My finger hovers over my general practitioner’s name. I’ve only seen her once when I had a sinus infection and needed antibiotics. But I’m still registered as a patient. Perhaps I can get in to see her today.

I make the phone call and I’m told she can see me today at three in the afternoon. I have a couple hours to kill. I find a restaurant and tuck myself into a booth, hidden from prying eyes. I force myself to eat and give my body the strength it needs.

I also force myself to think about everything that’s happened in my life recently. I have to face my future, figure out what I’m going to do next.

Zane has his own life to deal with and he has a lot on his plate. That’s the cold, hard truth. Time to face it.

I tried to stay here for him. I think that was a mistake.

Having Zane in my life is not the end-all solution to my happiness. I need to stop putting him in that category and take responsibility for myself.

I know what I need to do. I need to pack up and head for Idaho. It’s what I should’ve done in the first place. I need my family. I need their love, their comfort, and their support to pull me through this difficult time. It’s the only way out of the rut I’m in.

It feels good to think clearly.

I stopped taking my pain pills last night. I read that they can contribute to the Great Big Dark. It’ll take time for the medication to leave my system. Then I’ll see how I feel. It makes me wonder if I’ll pull out of this easily without them. Except I know I can’t put the total blame on the pills. Loss of a dream is a real downer.

Tylenol is doing the trick for my pain today, thank goodness. But I’m still groggy and out of whack. Emotional and weepy. I feel useless and invisible, like everything is wrong in my life and I have absolutely nothing to look forward to. I can’t shake the feeling. Which is why I’m seeking help today, admitting my weakness. I shouldn’t feel ashamed, but I do. Mental health issues have a stigma attached to them, but they shouldn’t. It isn’t fair to expect people to take care of their bodies, but keep quiet about their mental state, as if it’s taboo.

At the appointed time, I grab a taxi and head for the doctor’s office.

I don’t have to wait long before the doctor enters the examination room.

“Miss Westerman, what can I do for you today?” She pauses when she notices the cast on my hand. “Oh, what did you do to your hand?”

I look down at the cast like it’s an intruder. “I w-was involved in an accident and I b-broke it,” I manage to say through a few sobs.

I told myself I would control my tears during the appointment, that I would speak to the doctor calmly and logically and explain how I’m feeling.

But I can’t control anything. The tears flow down my face while my emotions make it difficult to speak.

“I see.” She glances at my chart. “I saw you perform with the Marin Symphony once. You were amazing...” She inhales sharply. “Oh.” She takes a seat, looking at me with new eyes. “So, how are you feeling?”

It’s the moment of truth and I can hardly spit the words out. “I’m still in a lot of pain.” Not what I meant to say at all.

“Physical pain?” she probes.

“Yes. But...”

“It’s more than that?”

She’s perceptive. But then, I suppose my tears make it obvious. I nod in the affirmative, still finding it hard to explain how I feel.

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