CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nick
I don’t know if I walk, run, or take a spaceship back to my hotel from the festival.
Although I have managed to shake off most of the panic I am feeling, my brain still feels foggy and unfocused. Add to that, the embarrassment of having a panic attack in front of Marcy, and I am feeling compelled to throw myself into that lovely hotel bed and re-emerge when this assignment is over.
Whatever the intention of my parents, their presence always floods me with feelings of inadequacy, and I know that allowing those doubts to take over won’t end well.
Time and time again, that trigger has landed me in the bed of someone I didn’t care to be with, or in a physical fight with the next asshole I happened to stumble across in the local bar.
The validation offered in the lusty gaze of some woman or the crack of a nose on some moron made me feel strong and made me feel worthy in a way that had been long neglected by the people I needed that validation from the most.
Something is changing in me though, and has been for some time.
I gave up the bar fighting in my twenties, and the hook-ups have dwindled to nothing since months ago.
The momentary ego boost from those rash experiences scratched a certain itch at one time, but that time has gone.
I now lack the impulses but am clearly missing some coping mechanisms to effectively manage these self-doubts.
The problems aren’t new, the anger at the dissolution of the relationship with my parents having emerged when I was a teen.
It was at that time that I was introduced to my therapist, Patricia, through some guidance counselor at my private high school.
The anger had started showing up in sports and recreational activities at first, but it wasn’t long before I was lashing out at teachers and students within the classroom.
Naturally, my parents were mortified to add “needs therapy” to the growing list of ways that I disappointed them, making them reluctant to take that advice.
Their minds quickly changed however, after I chose to urinate in the fountain in front of their country club when I was sixteen.
Since I chose to do it in front of all their friends after being forced through an Easter brunch, they didn’t have a choice in the matter.
To be fair, I had just overheard them telling a group that I was planning to spend the summer interning at my dad’s business, a bold lie that I couldn’t stomach.
I still don’t feel bad about it, especially since peeing in that fountain got me introduced to Patricia.
Clearly, I am no longer an adolescent, and since Patricia treats both teens and adults, she has been willing to meet with me throughout the years as needs have arisen.
She’s no nonsense, and I’m guessing at some points her “tough love” approach with me isn’t exactly the clinical standard, but she’s effective.
I’ll give her that. She’s well into her seventies at this point, and only keeps a few clients on her roster, but is otherwise retired and takes our appointments by video from Palm Springs.
Although it’s getting late, I message her to see if she is available to chat tonight.
She answers right away, the two-hour time difference between Minnesota and California making my request only slightly less obnoxious.
Reliable Patricia is able to meet within thirty minutes of my request, which she will undoubtedly find a way to charge extra for.
I answer her call in my pajama pants and a hoodie from the comfort of my hotel bed.
“Good evening Patricia.” She answers the call from what appears to be the inside of a tiny Costco.
Packed shelves surround her, filled with bulk pantry items and baskets of root vegetables.
She is wearing a hot pink sweater that coordinates with her lipstick, and her white hair is curled away from her face; a face clearly wrinkled by sunshine, smiling, and the occasional cigarette.
“Nicholas, same to you. It’s been years since you made an SOS type request, so I will waive the additional fee.” There it is.
“Well, thank you Patricia, that really is too kind. Question for you though, are you in a bomb shelter of some kind? Do you need rescuing?” She gives me an eye roll and a smirk.
“Bomb shelter? No, but I am hiding in my daughter’s pantry. I told her I would come help babysit her kids for a couple days and let’s just say I’ll think twice in the future. You didn’t call to talk about me though, so what’s going on?”
“I had a difficult day, unexpectedly.” I start to explain.
“Well, yeah, the hoodie tells me that. You look like the Unabomber on vacation.” She ribs me, which I appreciate. This was how she initially got me to open more when I was teen. “Tell me about it Nick, what is going on today?” I breathe deeply, still a bit frazzled.
“I ran into my parents, out at a festival in the town I am currently working in. I happen to be in Minnesota on this job, and they never even called me back when I reached out to try and see them.” Patricia already knows this isn’t a new behavior for my parents.
“How have you been feeling about their lack of communication lately?”
“Honestly? I think I still feel hurt when they can’t put in the effort to even text me back…and then I feel mad at myself for still feeling hurt after all these years. Like I should have gotten over it by now or something.”
“Should have gotten over your parents not actively engaging with you?”
“Yeah, I know what you are going to say. They are my parents, any rejection coming from them is going to hurt.”
“Something like that, yes.” We had only discussed their rejection of me hundreds of times, I know what she’s thinking.
“It’s just that most days I feel like I have accepted that I can’t change who they are, and what our relationship has become, and other days it’s still really hard. Today was just one of those fucked up days.”
She reaches out of view of the camera and her arm returns with a box of crackers that she starts munching on immediately. “Speak more about that though, what happened today that made seeing your parents, and their rejection, more painful than usual?”
I sit up straighter in bed, pull the hood off my head, and think for a moment. The answer is obvious. “You aren’t going to like my answer, but you need to let me explain.”
“Ugh shit, Nicholas, not another girl. We have been over this, a roll in the sack is not going to fix this problem.” Patricia gives me an eye roll as she dips her crackers in dip that has suddenly appeared.
“I said let me explain! This girl…uh, woman actually, is really different, Patricia. I have never felt this way about anyone, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I haven’t even been with another woman in months.”
“Let’s keep things honest. We have been doing this a long time, no need to start with the bullshit now.”
“No! Swear it. I want something more than sex, I have been feeling this way for almost a year. Then I met this woman, her name is Marcy. She is it for me, I know it. I feel it.” She gives me a skeptical look, that turns into a small smile.
“Ok, as much as I want to explore that statement some more, let’s stay on task. What does Marcy have to do with today?”
“Well, she was with me at the festival. It was the first time I had asked her to hang out and I felt like it was going...great, actually.” I can’t help but smile when I think about holding her hand.
“Aw, Nicholas, you are blushing.” I rub my fingers through my beard, kind of proud of myself that I am letting a woman have such an impact on me.
“Yeah, yeah, ok thanks…anyway…we ran into my parents on the street. Like I said, I hadn’t heard from them and just wasn’t expecting to see them.
Then, true to form, they make a few digs at me and even at Marcy.
They can do it in that way that sounds like it’s just a polite conversation, but really, they are just so disrespectful. ”
“Yeah, I met them, remember?” Patricia knows my parents of course, since I started seeing her when I was a minor.
At one point she was trying to work with us in a family therapy setting to try and address the rift, but they were never engaged in the process, and I know that irked her. “Okay, so then what was your response?”
“It was a first Patricia; I think I had a panic attack this afternoon. It was like I was stuck in the moment; I struggled to find my words…I just froze. I was shaking, sweating, heart pounding, it was awful. And the worst part of it all was that Marcy was right there to see it.” Patricia nods along with my explanations, allowing me a moment to continue.
“It embarrassed me that I was so vulnerable in front of her.”
“Why do you think that embarrassed you?”
“You know why.”
“Say it, please. Clearly you need to hear yourself process these thoughts and emotions out loud.” I groan, because I know she is right.
“I don’t want her to think I am weak or defective in the way that my parents do.
I fear she will reject me like they have, and we will never have a chance.
” I struggle to make eye contact with Patricia through the camera.
The back of my eyes stinging from me trying to hold back the emotion that is now palpable under my skin.
“Nicholas, it’s that fear. That’s what caused your panic attack.”
“Yeah.” I slump back against the headboard. “I think you are right.”
“Obviously, I am.” She now has some sort of sports drink. “How did Marcy react to your panic attack?”
“She was annoyingly kind, and helpful. Truly, I wouldn’t have calmed down nearly as quickly without her there.
” I explain to Patricia as she is again giving me a knowing smile.
“She is a social worker though, and that makes me worry that she sees me as one of her patients now, instead of how I want her to see me.”
“Which is how?”
“I want her to see me as strong, and capable, and someone she can rely on. She doesn’t have a great track record of people like that in her life, and I want to show her I can be there for her.”
“Is this the girl you emailed me about? The one I said whose feelings needed to be validated?” Are those fucking Goldfish Crackers in Patricia’s hand?
“Yeah, same woman.” I confirm.
“So, what I hear you saying is that you want to be the strong and supportive partner to this woman, but that you don’t want that in return?”
“No…that’s…not…”
“Well, that’s what it sounds like. She was there for you, at the very least as a friend should be. It doesn’t sound like she was pushing you away.” I retraced the afternoon in my mind.
No, Marcy hadn’t pushed me away at all. She was just…there for me. “Okay so you’re right, I want it to be a two-way street.”
“There ya go. This relationship will be about give and take. I’m guessing that fear cropped up because you haven’t been afraid of losing someone like you are with this girl. Sorry, woman.” It makes sense. I love Patricia. She’s eating a jar of frosting.
“My fear has come out a little aggressive too, now that I am thinking about it. I had a meeting with Marcy and her superior and he was a dick, so snapped at him a bit.”
“What did that look like?”
“I kind of told him to shut up and let her speak.”
“And how are you feeling about that interaction today?”
“I don’t like that Marcy saw that side of me, but I don’t feel bad about barking at the guy, he deserved it.” That was the truth.
“Nicholas, are you able to recognize that Marcy saw that less-than-perfect side of you and then kept spending time with you anyway?”
Huh.
“Yes. I’m getting it.”
“You don’t need to be the perfect ray of sunshine all the time to make up for your inadequacies. We all have inadequacies, and we all find the people that love us anyway. Your parents did a shit job of showing you that, but other people will surprise you if you let them.”
“You think she loves me, Patricia?” The thought of that makes my chest want to explode.
“Shut up Nicholas, you barely know her. Keep spending your time with her and find out for yourself.” She points at me with her plastic knife covered in frosting to emphasize her stern message.
“Right, yeah, getting ahead of myself.”
“I am going to email you some information on panic attacks because I can hear the small gremlins at my office door. Sorry we couldn’t chat longer Nicholas, but email me again to set up a time in the next few days so that we can keep processing this a bit.”
“Yeah, Okay. This really helped, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll only bill you half since it wasn’t a full session.”
“You are too kind.” I hang-up with Patricia and feel lighter. She got me to say the things I struggled to acknowledge on my own. That fear of not being good enough for Marcy, not doing this thing between us “right.”
More importantly, she reminded me that being with a partner will mean a balance of both our needs, and a trust that Marcy will tell me when I am not meeting hers. Trust she won’t reject me for being…myself? Is that right?
I don’t know, still processing.