Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
BLAIRE
My psychologist’s office always seemed like it was trying too hard to be comfortable, and instead achieved the exact opposite.
The beige tones of the décor zapped any energy I had before stepping foot inside. Even the simple setup of a couch and chair felt as if we were two friends catching up over coffee instead of a therapist and patient.
As if anything could make me forget why I was here.
The minute I arrived, I wanted to leave. Nothing against Kathy. She was a lovely woman who spoke like she truly wanted to help me. But I also paid her.
She crossed her ankles, sitting in the chair across from me. “I was surprised to hear from you, Blaire. Our next appointment wasn’t scheduled for two weeks from now. It’s not like you to need a session sooner.”
Correction: It wasn’t like me to admit I needed to come sooner.
My anxiety was my Achilles heel, and even though it infiltrated every aspect of my life, I hated to acknowledge its existence. It was a weakness I couldn’t rectify.
“My sleep is getting worse. A lot worse. I’m up for a promotion I really don’t want to lose, and if I don’t fix this…problem soon, I’m going to get passed over.” Not wanting to meet her scrutiny, I picked at my cuticle.
“You’re still having the dreams then.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Are you keeping your dream journal?”
“Yes.” Even though it’s filled with stuff I don’t understand.
Kathy looked down at the small notepad on her lap. “And you tried the sleeping pills your psychiatrist offered?”
“Yes. I still had the dream. If anything, I think they made me more tired.” The stupid beige couch was horribly uncomfortable, and I couldn’t find a position that didn’t make me feel like ripping my skin off.
“Hmm…” She tapped her pen on the notepad. I watched, hypnotized. “Do you think it has anything to do with your parents’ murder? Maybe it’s you finally trying to process what happened.”
I stared at her. “What could dreams of me killing people have to do with my parents being killed during a break in?”
Shrugging, Kathy stopped tapping her pen.
“I’m trying to imagine how your brain would see things.
You experienced a trauma as a young child, and have struggled to retain memories since then.
A loss of control, or the feeling of such, can filter into your life in the most peculiar ways.
You had no control then in a situation of violence, and you have no control now, in a dream about a situation of violence.
There’s a parallel there, if you want to explore it. ”
What Kathy said made sense, no doubt about it, but it made sense for someone else. Her explanation didn’t sit right with me, and there was no ring of truth when I let it simmer in my brain.
Her smile encouraged me to agree, and I really didn’t feel like diving into all the reasons I thought she was wrong, so I nodded. “I guess that could be one explanation.”
“I think our best bet in getting the dreams to stop is exploring some of the gaps in your memory. Maybe if we can work at getting some of the less important memories back, you’ll have a bigger sense of control, and the dreams will stop.
” Kathy jotted something down on the notepad, probably something about how she miraculously fixed all my problems with one wild guess.
“Maybe.” Hopefully.
“We’ve been working on the largest memory loss for some time now, the one right after university. Let’s try and develop some strategies we can work on together, to see if we can’t bring back some of those memories.”
“Great idea.” I hope. That chunk of time might as well have been gone for good.
During university, it was suggested I see a therapist. Something unraveled in me during our sessions, and I just…
disassociated. In my head, I separated the periods of time as B.B.
and A.B. Before the blackout and after the blackout.
“Let’s nail down a timeline first. What’s the last thing you remember before the blackout?” Kathy asked, pen ready to jot down all my trauma in her tidy handwriting, lining up my misery in neat little rows.
“Graduating from university.” I wanted to pat myself on the back for not adding, which I’ve already told you, at the end of my sentence.
“And after the black out?”
Shifting on this couch was useless, because I was never going to be comfortable in this doctor’s office masquerading as a friend’s living room.
“My first solid memory is in my old apartment, before I moved. I was on the phone with my marketing firm’s HR, arranging an interview. Everything in between that is…blurry.”
Some memories filtered by, stained and cracked.
Of course, I could never be certain what was real, and what I simply wanted to cling to and say I remembered.
In one of my foster homes, after my parents died, I used to tell teachers the plot to a movie I memorized was my life story.
I wouldn’t be surprised if that same attitude came with me to adulthood.
Sometimes, I thought I could remember a small apartment and a green kitchen. Other times, I thought I almost grasped the edges of a man’s photograph, blond and handsome. Obviously, he hadn’t lasted, if he wasn’t there when I started over.
“Good. Now we have a timeline. This is where I think we should start.” Sitting up, Kathy leaned close, like she was a friend sharing a juicy secret.
“I want you to lie on your couch or your bed, wherever you’re comfortable, and I want you to just let your thoughts drift to waking up in your apartment that day.
Then, you’re going to try and stretch back five more minutes.
Can you remember five minutes before being on the phone?
It’s going to take practice, but the second you have something I want you to cling to it for all it’s worth.
If you remember making a cup of tea, try and taste that tea.
If you remember the window being open, could you feel a breeze?
The brain is a muscle like anything else.
Maybe we just have to train yours a bit more. ”
“Maybe.” I wish. I tuned out the rest of Kathy’s monologue, recognizing that she wouldn’t be of any use to me in this situation. Five minutes wasn’t going to change a damn thing when I was missing years.
Sure, remembering that chunk of time would help me in the long run, maybe. But right now, I needed a quick fix, and Kathy’s solution didn’t sound fast at all. I needed something to help me sleep, because I didn’t have months or years before Harry made his decision.
She smiled the entire time she talked, and I nodded, pretending I was paying attention. I handed over my credit card at the appropriate moment, and shook her hand when I was supposed to.
When I finally stood on the street, alone with my thoughts again, I wanted to scream. Useless. Kathy had been fucking useless. Friends were unreliable, and isolation had been the norm since I was young. Just like with everything else, I was on my own.
Maybe it was better that way.