One day, I won’t be sitting in this extra large chair with its worn-through patchwork cover and too many pillows, curled up with my face leaning on a pillow in the same position every week; glancing around at the same cheap fake paintings of women looking at the sea from wicker couches and chairs and tables, avoiding what usually is an agonizing hour due to her lack of any empathy, humor, encouragement, or personality.
One Wednesday, I will stop spending from 2 p.m. to 3 p.m. in this office. I will feel well enough to say good-bye; although at this particular point that plan was looking exceedingly doubtful considering it was a Tuesday and I had called her to beg her to see me.
“I blocked him. Isn’t that courageous? I blocked him from facebook, texts, my phone number, everything. Of course, he could still come over and actually see me but... oh my GOD I hadn’t even THOUGHT of that!”
I paused, horrified, for a millisecond. I could not think about that ever again; which meant I would obsess about it 24/7. Here I had blocked him out of my virtual world, (which had seemed to have overcome my real life world but that’s another story), thinking it sent him a message strength on my part that would make him panic—to I know longer cared about his carelessness, (although I thought his actions much more deliberate with the intention to drive me mad). And yet, he could simply hop in his fancy car (that I had keyed in a rage; he repainted and at least had stopped demanding the money) and come right over to see me. Shit.
There were moments I was stronger and others where I thought the pain, the irrational, sick, unrelenting, broken-hearted pain would kill me. If I were my best friend, I would say, “This is totally ridiculous. There are so many men in the world. Why do you chose the ones who can’t love you? Why do you try? What is wrong with you? Don’t take it personally it is his problem, not yours.” But I wasn’t my best friend. Worst enemy?
“I don’t know what to do.”
I waited for her response. I thought she might smile or say something brilliant and soothing. She reminded me of my boyfriends. She was very hard to please.
This was one serious shrink. Her face didn’t even change expression. She was doodling on her yellow lined pad, as usual. Once I blasted her about that, but she explained it helped her think.
“Now I hear nothing from him!” She stayed silent, stating the obvious. “you blocked him. What did you expect?”
“This is sooo out of control,” I moaned.
She finally looked up and spoke but her eyes revealed nothing—not anger, impatience, sympathy, empathy, a new revelation—nothing. “You are out of control. We have to keep the facts straight.”
Her voice was smooth and even, like her skin. She was very pretty in her own way I thought, with black bangs and green eyes with light flawless skin that made it impossible to guess her age. I would say, twenty-eight. She wouldn’t tell me. In fact, I know nothing about her.
My mind wasn’t ready to care. It was in addictive mode. I needed a fix.
“I am ballistic over this. Even though he can’t write me? I write him. I try to keep it to a minimum, seeing as the entire point is to break all contact.” I paused at my words, mulling over how ridiculous they sounded. I was out of control. “I am totally out of control!” There was no hope left. “I wonder: what he is thinking?”
“Do you think wondering what he is thinking is more important than working through what you are thinking?”
How many times have I heard this? I need a fix, damn it! A magic cure! Do it, shrink. Earn your money!
