Chapter 23 #2
“So that’s our time for today. I think that weekly appointments might be helpful for you right now, does the same time next week work for you?
” I took a couple of minutes to think about my answer.
On the one hand, I wanted to just go to therapy just to say I did it and move on, but, on the other hand, something was telling me that Dr. Z was how I would get answers.
Following in my father's footsteps was no longer desirable to me, so I nodded my head.
“Yes, that works for me. I’ll see you next week.” I’m unsure how I made it home, but I was out like a light the second my head hit the pillow.
Present day
Cas’s therapy appointment
It’s been a couple of months since that first session, and honestly, most times, I look forward to seeing Dr. Z.
But today, I’m incredibly grateful. I need answers.
We begin with our typical weekly check-in before she asks me what I want to focus on today.
I explain the feelings I have been experiencing as she nods along empathetically, this time choosing not to take her notes.
“And today, I am supposed to feel happy and excited because, well, remember when I talked about Avery?” When she nods, I continue. “We’re going on our first date later today.”
“How exciting. I see why you’re supposed to feel excited and happy. You’ve been waiting a while for Avery, haven't you?” I nod and she asks her next question. “It must be frustrating feeling so disconnected. Tell me, have you had any more flashbacks this past week?” I nod.
“Yes. And I’m not sure if the flashbacks are getting worse or better.
They’ve been happening almost every day.
And now, there’s also a little boy who looks strangely familiar.
He’s scared and alone, and I don’t know why, but I feel scared and alone, too.
It is the most bizarre experience ever. Is this making any sense? ” I ask her.
“Actually, yes, and it looks like there are some confused feelings, as well. I think that’s a natural emotion, given what you seem to be dreaming about.
I have a thought I would like to share, but it might be possibly triggering.
Remember, at any point, if you need a break to collect yourself, all you have to do is ask.
Are you okay if I share my thoughts?” I nod once, hoping to hide the terror over what she’s about to say.
Of course, she picked up on my feelings because she’s that good.
“Before I continue, let’s take a few of our four-six-five deep breaths.
In for four, hold for six, and out for five.
As you’re doing that, let’s say to ourselves I am not my anxiety nor my trauma.
Anxiety doesn’t mean I’m broken, it means I’m a warrior.
I think five of these will be helpful, but if you need more, let me know. ”
My relationship with my anxiety has come a long way.
Something I used to hate with every fiber of my being is now something I’ve learned to embrace.
Some days are easier said than done and Avery is a huge reason for the shift in thinking.
As someone who struggled with it her whole life, I realized the more I hate that part of myself, the more I hate that part of her.
And hating any part of her doesn’t sit well with me.
So yeah, I have anxiety and PTSD. Some days are easier than others to accept that, but I’m a work in progress and my healing is a journey not a destination.
Ever since the topic of anxiety came up in therapy, guilt has weighed heavy on my chest. I need to apologize to Avery for all the hurtful things I said.
I need to own up to the things I made her believe with my cruel words.
But every time I find the courage, my voice stops working and it feels like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
I know I’ll have to have this conversation soon because if I want a future with her, I have to atone for the mistakes of my past.
We breathe together, and after the last four-six-five breaths, I feel calmer and let her know she can continue. “Okay, so with what you’ve shared so far, both verbally and with your journal, I’m wondering if, in this most recent flashback, the little boy you are seeing is actually you.”
I sit with those words for a few minutes, on the verge of understanding.
“I mean, maybe? I feel like I’m so close to an answer, but find myself up against this brick wall that’s keeping me from understanding what the hell is happening,” I say, exasperated.
“You have accomplished so much already in a short time. Even though you feel frustrated right now, it’s important to remind yourself to be patient and have some grace. Let's try shifting our approach for a second and see if maybe we can get that answer.”
She asks me to write out the scene that has been like a broken record in my head for the last couple of weeks. She hands me a pen and paper and tells me to first write out the flashback and then to continue with whatever comes into my head.
I spend the next ten minutes writing what I remember. When I begin the free writing, I’m transported back to that scene.
I’m back in the dark, cold room with only a single twin bed with red sheets.
That same boy is sitting there looking small, but this time I hear a familiar voice: my father’s.
This time I’m able to walk on the rickety stairs and that’s when I see my father talking to two different men that seem familiar.
One man was arguing with my dad about not having the money for the stash.
I see a wicked grin pull across my dad’s face that causes my body to freeze as bile threatens to rise in my throat.
My dad makes a bargain that has my body going ice cold.
My feet won’t allow me to move. I desperately need to warn the little boy downstairs, to warn myself of the danger headed my way.
The other two men have the same evil smirk on their faces as they move past my father and head downstairs.
With each creek of the steps, my heart beats harder in my throat.
The sound of my therapist's gentle words pulls me out of the memory.
“You remembered something, didn't you?” Dr. Z asks.
With my nod, the words come pouring out of my mouth.
I notice that my chest is getting tight and my breathing becomes more rapid.
How could I have forgotten something that big?
I stand up without warning, desperate to release this buzzing energy inside me.
I pace the office while Dr. Z watches me walk the perimeter of her office, trying to shake off the panic.
I can imagine how insane I look, and my go-to deflection is to play it off with a joke.
“I know. I look like I just escaped the mental hospital or something.” I laugh without humor.
“Want to know what I think?” she asks, causing me to stop mid-stride and nod my head for her to continue. “I think you remembered a very traumatic situation that you’ve blocked out for a long time. And you’re feeling scared and panicked.”
“But why am I just remembering everything now? Why wasn’t I able to do or say something when it happened?
I can't believe how stupid I am for just remembering all this now when it happened forever ago. Like, I just let them do that shit to me.” Nausea threatens to take over my body and I begin to get lightheaded, so I sit down.
My therapist must pick up on this because she starts guiding me through a deep breathing exercise while doing some more grounding.
“Cassidy, you are not stupid for remembering this now, nor are you stupid for not doing anything to save yourself then. I have some information that I want to give you that might help provide answers to your questions.” She makes her way toward the floor-to-ceiling metal filing cabinet as my gaze focuses on the quote box atop the cabinet.
I remember from my first session and had to fight the urge to roll my eyes back then, but now, I no longer want to do so.
It reads, “You must let yourself feel it before you can heal it.” It’s scary how accurate it feels at the present moment.
She turns around with the packet and catches me reading the sign.
“That’s such a great saying. We, myself included, don’t like to feel any intense emotions, so we often block them out or push them down.
This leads me to this packet. I want you to read through it when you are ready and willing to accept and understand the information.
There are reasons why you’re only remembering what happened now and this packet might help relieve some of your guilt and frustration with yourself.
Now, I know you said you remembered things.
You are more than welcome to share what you know in this safe space, or you can tell me whenever you’re ready.
” Her words are so comforting that the words escape from me before I can stop them.
“He said it’ll be our little secret, and if you try to tell anyone, you will regret it,” I say. I try to slow down my rapid breathing. I finally look into those calm, blue eyes and confirm her earlier thought. “I am that boy, and they sexually abused me.”