Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dean’s Therapy Diary
I ’ve been told to write down everything I’m feeling, and what I’m feeling is I want to go home. Right now. This was a mistake. I’ve got to get out of here.
Messaged Eli to ask him to come pick me up.
Bastard said no. Right now I hate him. I can’t fucking stand this place.
The questions they ask. That stupid piece of shit text-to-voice thing I have to use to be fucking understood.
Eli’s always been there for me, and he’s just leaving me here.
I begged. He gave me some bullcrap about how if I still feel that way at the end of the month, he’ll come, but not until then.
I even told him he could rebook his wedding if he came for me now. Nada. Fucking betrayed. I HATE HIM.
Day 4
I’ve kept to myself so far, leaving my room as little as possible. But today they managed to convince me to go for a walk around the grounds, coaxing me like a skittish new pet. There’s a lake, and rolling hills. It’s not a bad environment. I just wish I wasn’t here.
WhatsApp messages between Dean Gastright and Liaden O’Brien
Dean Gastright: Angel, please come get me
Dean Gastright: Get me out of here, please
Dean Gastright: PLEASE
Liaden O’Brien: I thought we weren’t supposed to talk for the first month
Dean Gastright: Please, I need you
Dean Gastright: I miss you so much
Dean Gastright: I can’t take it here anymore
Dean Gastright: It’s breaking me
Dean Gastright: It’s doing me more harm than good
Dean Gastright: I can’t be away from you any longer
Dean Gastright: Liaden, PLEASE
Liaden O’Brien: I’m sorry, I can’t
Liaden O’Brien: I’m so sorry you’re having a rough time
Liaden O’Brien: But this is part of the process, and it will be worth it in the end
Liaden O’Brien: Can you talk to Joe? He might be able to help you through this part better than I can
Dean Gastright: Fine
Dean Gastright: Fuck you
Dean Gastright: Fuck you, Liaden
Dean Gastright: Thanks for nothing
Dean Gastright: Can’t believe this
Dean Gastright: Can’t believe you don’t give a shit about me when I need you most
Dean Gastright: Message received loud and clear
Dean Gastright: So much for loving me, you fucking LIAR
Liaden O’Brien: Don’t you ever speak to me like that again.
Liaden O’Brien: I’m going to put this down to you being stressed out. But if you ever say anything like that to me again in your life, I won’t tolerate it, and I won’t stick around to put up with more of it. Are we clear?
Dean Gastright: I’m sorry, you’re right
Liaden O’Brien: Are we clear?
Dean Gastright: We’re clear
Dean Gastright: I’m so sorry, I don’t know what got into me
Dean Gastright: I didn’t mean any of it
Liaden O’Brien: I know
Liaden O’Brien: Promise me you’ll speak to Joe
Dean Gastright: OK, I promise
Day 4 (resumed)
I did speak to Joe .
He was very patient with me. Even when I cried like a kindergartner. Even when I told him I couldn’t see the point in continuing with his program.
He told me that of course I couldn’t see the point, because I was refusing to participate, binning the medication they were giving me, staying in my room, not doing anything to engage with this opportunity. No wonder I wasn’t feeling any benefit.
He had me there.
I’m still skeptical. And afraid. I know what they want me to think about, and face, and I don’t think I can do it.
But it turns out that that’s not the first step. The first step is to make me feel stronger, using medication and talking therapy (ha ha). Get me on an even keel.
He also pointed out that I have something to gain from trying, and nothing to lose if it doesn’t work out.
Worst case scenario, I’m at least stably medicated, and that in itself could do some of the heavy lifting for me.
He says I have the worst case of survivor’s guilt he’s ever seen, and considering where he works, that’s…
given me pause. ‘Survivor guilt’. Trying the words on and they seem to fit.
I think of the terrible things I said to Liaden earlier, things she of all people absolutely did not deserve, and this seems the best way to make up for it.
So.OK.I’m in.
Day 8
Liaden gave me a beautiful gift today.
She sent me a video link of her singing Outnumbered by Dermot Kennedy, with directions to listen to the lyrics. It was just her and her incredible voice, no instruments or anything else. Just her, singing for me, on a YouTube channel she created called, simply, For Dean .
It propped up something within me that had collapsed.
I’m such a lucky man.
And for the first time, I actually contributed to group therapy this afternoon.
Talked about my motivation for being there, and what I wanted to work towards.
So basically talked about Liaden a lot. The text-to-voice app doesn’t pronounce her name properly, but at least they all know she exists.
I’m not ready to talk about Prom Night yet, but I feel like it might happen, like I could be more ready soon.
I’ve been on my medication for just under a week, and the side effects are kicking in.
Everything is louder, and my brain feels thick and fogged and busy.
My head aches. My mouth is dry as a bone.
I’m not hungry, even though the food here is pretty damn good.
But the shakes and anxiety are nowhere near as bad as they were with the other antidepressants I was on before.
I can maybe believe that I could be calmer in my day-to-day, in time.
And that’s everything right now.
Day 17
Liaden has sent me a new video every other day.
Just her, singing, occasionally playing the piano but more often than not unaccompanied.
Sometimes the songs are meaningful, like the time she sent me Alone by Heart to remind me of the karaoke night, and making me think that I might actually be able to enjoy socializing for real at the other side of this program.
She sang Run by Snow Patrol for me once, and I replayed it over and over, crying like a baby.
Sometimes she sings something to make me laugh, like earlier this week when she sang I Touch Myself by the Divinyls.
And sometimes she just shows off her incredible voice, like this morning’s twofer when she sang Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover followed immediately by Black Velvet .
“I couldn’t decide,” she says with a dimpling smile, “so this morning you get both.”
I love her so much. She’s my reason, for everything I’m scared to do and everything I’m dying to do.
I miss holding her. I wouldn’t even try to make love to her, if she was here now.
I wouldn’t use her to escape anything. With her in my arms, there’d be nothing I’d want to escape from.
I’d just breathe in the smell of her hair and hold her tightly, happy just to be in the same room as her, in the same moment, the same point in time where she exists.
I’m still finding my feet with the meds, and I’ve had a few harsh panic attacks, but the side effects are slowly calming down, and the staff here have looked after me throughout it all.
I’ve eaten healthier here in the past couple of weeks than I have in the past couple of years.
I’m taking advantage of them having personal trainers, and every evening I’m pleasantly sore from exertion without being completely exhausted.
Exercise isn’t a way to punish myself. It’s making me feel stronger. All of it. In every way.
Which means I’ve got to start the hard part of treatment soon.
They let you take things steadily here, but I can’t avoid it forever.
They wouldn’t let me, anyway. And…I don’t think I want to avoid it anymore.
That doesn’t mean I actually want to face it, but…
My focus is now entirely on recovery, getting stronger, doing what I can to be better and do better.
For Liaden, sure. And Eli, and the rest of my family.
But most of all, for myself.
There’s a man here, Neill, who was in the army and is dealing with PTSD from his tours of duty in Iraq.
He’s further along in his treatment than I am, but we both have Dr Sindri, and it’s been brilliant talking to someone who’s been through the steps ahead of me.
He’s said Sindri is firm but fair, doesn’t let you get away with anything, and that facing the stuff we want to forget is hard as fuck…
but totally and completely worth it. He even feels a sense of pride in taking each step and facing down his terror. And that’s been helpful to know.
I don’t want to do this. And, at the same time, I do.
I think it’s time.
Day 19
I puked. I sobbed. I clung to Sindri like a broken child. But I did it. I took the first step in reliving what happened.
They’ve been really good about it. They’re letting me skip group therapy this evening so I can lie in bed and catch my breath. But they didn’t give me any anxiety meds. They’re getting me to work through it without that crutch.
And without turning to my family or my girlfriend for comfort. Though signing her name in bed at night still has the power to make me feel steadier.
I can see what I’ve been doing more clearly now.
Sex with her wasn’t what it should have been.
I should have taken every opportunity to show her, with my hands, my mouth, every part of me, how much I love her and worship her.
Instead, I used her to chase that brilliant ten second burst of oblivion, like a junkie after his next fix, not caring about anything else.
I’m going to put that right when I’m out of here, if she’ll allow me. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, but…I think maybe she will. And I recognize that as the thoroughly undeserved second chance it is.
I’m doing OK. I’m worn out, and I’m not looking forward to doing any more regression therapy. But I’m managing more than I ever thought would be possible.
Day 27
Callie’s death wasn’t my fault.