Chapter 35 Verity
THIRTY-FIVE
Verity
“A guy I dated in college is working on the movie I’m currently shooting.”
There’s barely a ripple in Dr. Palmer’s expression, but I know her well enough by now to detect the sharpening of her gaze.
“Oh?” She leans forward and peers at me onscreen, the afternoon light slanting through the window of her Brooklyn office behind her. “Have we discussed him before?”
“Yeah,” I say, seated on the floor with my back against the couch and the laptop on my coffee table. “It’s Monk, the one I was dating when I had my first manic episode.”
“Ahhhhh.” That one syllable says it all. Says she understands this man represents my greatest regret, and the most painful loss this condition has ever cost me.
She understands that I loved him.
“Have you thought about what I said when you first told me what happened at Finley?” she asks.
“That I should tell him everything? Tell him maybe I wouldn’t have cheated on him if I hadn’t been manic?” I toss a look up to the living room ceiling and shake my head. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too humiliating, all of it.”
“Are you sure that’s the reason? What if he—”
“He wants to fuck me, though.” I drop my eyes back to the telehealth portal window and waggle my brows suggestively. “No strings. He knows I don’t do monogamy.”
“Does he know it because he asked for that the first time, and he thinks you betrayed his trust?” she asks, her eyes never leaving my face as if the truth is stamped there. “Or does he know it because you’ve told him you won’t offer that to anyone?”
“Yeah.”
Dr. Palmer tilts her head and considers me. “Which is it?”
“The one you said.”
She rolls her eyes, a rare break in her professional inscrutability, but the tiniest smile teases her lips for a moment before melting away. Compassion, familiar and welcome, fills her gaze through the screen.
“Verity, at some point, you’ll have to reckon with the possibility that you may want to spend your life with someone, and if they want to spend their life with you, you’ll have to let them in.
” Her words settle between us in the silence before she presses on.
“You’ll have to trust someone to love you enough to stay even if things go badly.
And I won’t pretend sometimes things don’t go badly.
It’s hard being committed to someone who, during an episode, may seem like a different person.
It takes a strong partner and a strong bond. ”
My throat is so tight and so hot I can’t swallow. I draw a deep breath and let her words sink in, though I wish they could roll right off me.
“But,” Dr. Palmer says, her eyes gentling despite the tough truths, “those are some of the strongest marriages and relationships I’ve ever seen. It can be done.”
“I saw my parents’ marriage for myself.” I discipline my mouth into a firm line. “And that was enough of a shit show.”
“I know you don’t like talking about what happened with them, about the role mental illness played in their relationship, but nothing you ignore or avoid will heal.
When you avoid difficult things, traumatic things, you may extend their power over you.
It can cause you to miss out on things you want in this life. ”
“I don’t want marriage,” I say, forcing the words past the lump crowding my throat. “Monk said it himself. No strings.”
“Then enjoy it.” Dr. Palmer leans back in her office chair and folds her hands at her waist. “You deserve joy. You are in process, like the rest of us. Every issue doesn’t have to be resolved right away.
You’ve been stable for a long time. Your meds are doing their job.
Your depression has been infrequent and milder.
Enjoy this slice of life. It’s highly likely that at some point, life won’t be this good. ”
“You mean because of my diagnosis.”
“I mean because life be life-ing, and yes, because of your diagnosis. So when life lifes, it really lifes for you in unpredictable ways, but you have people who will love and support you through anything. Maybe let Monk decide if he wants to be one of them.”
“It’s not like that. Not this time.”
“Do you want it to be?” She raises her hand to stay my response. “Ahttt. I’ll wait for the answer to that question when you’re ready to be honest. I don’t want to hear the things you tell yourself to hide.”
“Damn. Are there any nice therapists in your practice? I may need a change.”
“You’re stuck with me.” She smiles and glances at her watch. “But our time’s up. We’ll revisit this in our next session.”
“In the meantime,” I say, grinning, “what I’m hearing is that my situationship is doctor-approved.”
“Grab your joy where you find it, girl.” She chuckles. “See you next time.”
I don’t know about joy, because I have no doubt I will get hurt, but having Monk again, even if for a few months—it will be worth it.