Chapter 5 #5
I wasn’t dumb; I knew I had mental problems. The constant showering was proof of that, as was the talking to myself, the hallucinations of the Boy, the insomnia, the rage I struggled to control, and the constant thoughts about why all of this had happened to me.
Why me?
Why had Kimberly chosen me?
I asked myself that question every day, even though she was the one I really wanted to ask.
“I think you should talk to Dr. Lively about this,” Logan suggested, sounding pained. For once, I agreed with him.
I hated the clinic, my shrink’s antiseptic office, and following the course of therapy.
I had been confident in my choice not to go back there, but, at the same time, I knew that my doctor was the only person who could help me shed light on my problem.
It was important that I resolve it.
Sex had always been a tool I used to survive, the only way I had of shutting up the Boy and drying his tears. How was I supposed to do without it? How would I live? How would I keep myself under control?
I didn’t know any other way to balance my adult self with my child self: two parts of the same soul that had no desire to work with each other. Sex was the thread that bound them together, kept them connected, and prevented either one from prevailing over and erasing the other.
What would happen if the Boy won that fight?
I was afraid of the answer to that question and the possible consequences, which was why I fought so hard. I fought to keep a war from breaking out and to keep the peace between the two opposite, contrasting sides of me.
“You’re right,” I told my brother, banishing all my other thoughts. Then, I left him, taking all my misery along with me.
***
That afternoon, I had to take Chloe to her last appointment with Dr. Lively.
My sister was doing much better, and Carter had become a distant memory for her. She had even gone back to school and was getting her grades up again. She was going out with friends and smiling more and more often.
I was happy for her. Dr. Lively had done a great job with her, and my sister had revealed an enviable strength that she’d long kept hidden beneath fragility.
I sat in the waiting room while she finished up.
As usual, the pudgy woman at the front desk checked up on me constantly, regularly throwing quick glances in my direction.
Meanwhile, I leafed through a car and motorcycle magazine.
It was boring, but at least it wasn’t some useless gossip or fashion magazine.
I sighed and tossed the magazine down on the low table in front of me.
I already owned a Maserati that was the wet dream of any guy my age, so I really didn’t need to drool over pictures of other cars.
I was happy with my baby, and driving her was one of the few things other than boxing that could relax me.
Whenever I got into that driver’s seat, I knew I had a marvelous panther in my hands and that it was my responsibility to keep her under control.
“And you can come back any time you want, especially if the anxiety or the nightmares return.” Dr. Lively’s voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I stood up to meet them.
“We should go. Madison will be here any minute,” Chloe said, smiling. She was ready to go out with her friend to celebrate the conclusion of her therapy.
I looked at the doctor, who had, in turn, fixed his bright eyes on me.
He was obviously wondering if he should seize this opportunity to talk to me, considering that my sister had finished with her standing appointment.
Truthfully, I needed to talk to him, too, and I tried to communicate that with my eyes.
From Dr. Lively’s look in return, I knew that he understood.
I walked Chloe out like always and waited with her on the corner a few yards from the clinic to make sure Madison and her parents were actually coming.
“You’re being paranoid,” she huffed, arranging her woolen hat on top of her head. It was cold enough now that no one was leaving the house without layers of heavy clothing.
“You’re sixteen, you’re my sister, and I’m high-strung,” I said defensively as I resisted the urge to smoke.
I was just going to go back inside to talk to Krug anyway, so I wouldn’t have had time to finish my cigarette.
Instead, I stuck my hands in the pockets of my black jacket and watched the cars speed by on the street.
“You’re overprotective.” She corrected me with a sly smile.
Yeah, I was that, too, just like any big brother would be.
“Exactly. That’s why I need to make sure Madison’s parents are with her.”
How often did teenagers lie so they could get away with their shit?
No way was I going to leave her alone to wait for this “friend” of hers.
No, I was going to make sure with my own eyes that she was being honest. Chloe huffed, but when a car pulled up to the curb and honked, I took careful note of Madison’s parents driving and the girl herself in the back seat.
“Call if you need anything. And don’t be late getting home,” I cautioned her sternly, but my little sister just grinned and got up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Neil. See you later!” She darted over to get in the car with her friend. I watched until the car merged into traffic and was gone.
Then I sighed and tried to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to do.
I had no more excuses left.
I went back into the clinic and walked briskly to Dr. Lively’s office. His door was open, and there was no one else in the waiting room. I knew he was waiting for me. He’d known me for over a decade at that point; he understood my cries for help, even when they were silent.
“Make yourself comfortable, Neil.” Krug Lively stood next to his desk, looking over a document. His glasses were poised on the tip of his nose, and his gaze was fixed on the paper.
I took a few steps into the room but decided to keep my distance from him. Too close, and I might not be able to speak.
“So, what’s happening? I’m glad you finally decided to talk to me.” He looked up at me and smiled, setting the paper down on the desk. He was always asking me to talk to him and now here I was in front of him voluntarily, just like he’d wanted for the last three years.
I heaved a sigh before spilling my guts.
I told him everything, man to man, holding nothing back.
Not that it was easy, but the fact that I was talking to a mental health professional and not just some random person had kindled a little hope in me.
Maybe he could help me figure out what was happening to me.
“It’s called anorgasmia.” Dr. Lively pulled off his glasses and propped himself up against his desk, adopting a casual stance.
I was still standing, hand shoved deep into the pocket of my jeans while I stared at him.
I cleared my throat and pulled down the asymmetrical zipper on my leather jacket.
A sudden anxious feeling left me short of breath.
“And?” I asked, trying to keep cool. This wasn’t like our professional sessions before, where he analyzed me while I tried to tell him about my history. Now I was the one asking questions, and he was the respondent.
“It’s a type of sexual dysfunction. One’s response to sexual stimulation is positive, and one can maintain an erection but cannot achieve orgasm. This type of disorder can be divided into various stages and can be or become a chronic condition,” he informed me, searching my face for a reaction.
He scratched his chin, which was bristly with the hint of a beard, and I considered his words.
“So you’re telling me you think it’s a psychological problem?” I tried to keep my voice firm, controlling my agitation.
“I’m sure it is. Anorgasmia is often a secondary effect of other illnesses, but, in your case, it is almost certainly a result of the sexual trauma you experienced as a child,” he told me confidently.
All at once, the anxiety wriggled out of my control: I began to have heart palpitations, and my right hand started shaking uncontrollably.
“Neil, you are abusing your body, and it is sending you distress signals. It’s rebelling against you.
You can’t go on like this for much longer.
Violating yourself to relive the memories, perpetuating the cycle of sexual encounters void of affection, human warmth, or emotion, unable to place any trust in your partners…
It will destroy you in the end. You’re putting your body under constant physical and mental stress.
Is that what you want?” he asked, his tone severe.
I flinched at his words, raw but truthful.
My conditions were monsters that had managed to tackle me and bind me up in chains. I could have avoided all of this long ago but, instead, I had pushed on to the point of no return. The point where a sexual malfunction was added to my fucking pile of issues.
“Could I become…impotent?” I asked, though it was a struggle.
Christ, just the word sent a stab of pain through me. Impotence was a man’s worst nightmare, something that would shatter the image of myself that I had created.
“No, it’s not about impotence; that has an organic cause.
You have a psychological problem that could have a more severe impact on your body.
” He moved closer and took a deep breath before continuing to speak.
“Neil, it’s not about your physical ability; it’s your psychological instability. You need treatment,” he told me firmly.
He continued talking then, but I struggled to follow our conversation.
After what felt like an eternity, I left the office and the entire damn clinic without saying another word.