Ghosts Of The Past [BoyxBoy] ✓

38. Warrior

These past couple of weeks everything's gotten worse. Aron and I are doing terrible. I hate going to therapy but I go anyway cause I promised Steven. Nobody told me it was gonna be this hard. And Aron's come home with scars on his face a few times now. I think he's having trouble with the gang again. Everything's falling apart. We can barely even be in the same room anymore now without me yelling or him being completely quiet, freezing me out. 

My mind's gotten worse too. Not a day goes by where I don't think about offing myself at least once. I don't know how it got to this. But if I had to guess I'd say it's probably my fault. 

I walk into the waiting room of the therapy place after signing in. 

I slump into a chair. 

I'm surprised to hear a voice from my right.

"If there we don't have the perfect one." Harold mocks. 

I didn't even notice him.

I'm too tired to mouth him off today. 

I bury my head in my hands. 

He's quiet now.

"H-hey, are you okay?" Harold asks, sounding concerned. 

"Do you care?" I answer. 

Silence. 

"Thought so."

"Look, just because I make a snide comment every now and again doesn't mean I hate you." He says quietly. 

Is he serious? He's been nothing but hell since I got here. 

Suddenly he's squatting next to me. 

"L-look, I'm sorry.. I didn't know." He puts his hand on my shoulder. 

I jerk it away. 

"Didn't know what?! That I have feelings?! That your stupid fucking judgments aren't always true?!" I yell. 

He's taken aback by this. 

He sighs and sits next to me. I wish he wouldn't. 

"I shouldn't have said all those things. It's a defense mechanism. Hurt before you're hurt, you know? I know it was wrong. I'm sorry." 

I kind of know what he's talking about. Although with me my hurting other people isn't half as logical. 

"It's fine." 

"It's not. I'll make it up to you—"

"Sky?" Jennifer calls. 

I get up. 

"I don't know how but I won't rest till I've made it up to you!" Harold calls after me. 

Why is he so dramatic?!

I follow Jennifer out of the waiting room.

***

I sit down in front of the strange looking lamp. It's got a horizontal bar with a little white light in the middle.

I brought her a list of moments that stuck with me. We've been working through each one memory by memory. Image by image. It's incredibly draining and emotional. Though Jennifer said that some people feel light and optimistic afterward. I envy them. I've been a mess for weeks now. Then again, that isn't much different from how I normally am. 

"Now, why don't we start working on the next theme on your list: your mother. Will you tell me which moment makes you feel the worst? Which moment makes you think 'I am an awful person'?"

"Well.. there were many.. but one that always stuck with me was.."  I take a deep breath. 

"My mom used to be a dancer. She was really good. Then she got pregnant with me, unexpectedly. Her boyfriend was an asshole and didn't take much responsibility. He stuck around until I was two and then he just left. She was left to take care of me on her own. She really did love my dad so not only was she a single mom, she was also a heart broken one. And she kind of took that out on me sometimes. She'd tell me she gave up her dreams for me and she'd cry.." I look down at my hands. 

I shrug. 

"I see. That must have been hard." Jennifer says earnestly. 

I nod. "It was."

"Now close your eyes." 

I do as she says. 

"I want you to play that scene where she tells you she gave everything up for you in your head. Which image, as if it were a photo, makes you the most emotional?" She asks. 

I see my mother on our couch. Her makeup's running down her cheeks as she cries and holds me in her arms, rocking me. Telling me how much she loves me, how much she gave up for me, how hurt she is. Making me feel like it's my fault. Like I ruined her life. Like I should never have been born. 

"She's on the couch, crying with me in her arms." My voice is almost stuck in my throat as I see the image so clearly before me. It happened so many times. Over and over. 

"And on a scale from one to ten, how much emotion does that image bring to you?" She asks. 

"Nine." I answer.

"Good. Now open your eyes and follow the light while you recollect that picture." 

I nod and follow the light in the lamp. It goes from left to right and changes color. It's going pretty fast and it's hard to keep the image in my mind. 

After about thirty seconds she stops the lamp. It glows white in the middle.

"How do you feel now?"

"Sad." I say as my eyes begin to tear up. 

"Focus on that."

She turns the lamp on again and I follow it with my eyes while pulling that image up. A tear runs over my cheek. 

"And now name the colors." Jennifer instructs.

"Blue, red, purple, green.."

"Good, keep going." 

"Purple, red, green, white, blue." My voice is all shaky. I sound so broken, it's embarrassing.

She stops after another thirty seconds and asks me to close my eyes again. 

"Now, on a scale from one to ten how heavy does that memory feel to you? How much does it hurt to look at it?" 

I bring it back up. I see my mother's crying face. It hurts, but not as bad as before.

"Um.. five." 

"What part of the image makes it feel like a five?" 

"That she's crying. I hate seeing my mother cry. It hurts." 

"Good. Focus on that."

We do another few sets and then we're done for the day. The image is at a two now so we'll continue next week. 

"You did so well, Sky." She smiles. 

I nod. I feel so empty. So numb. 

"Now I want you to think about this session and take one good thing from it. One good thing that you did."

By now I know that shrugging is only going to make her push for answers. 

"I showed up." I say. 

She nods. "Exactly. You're a warrior. You should be proud." 

***

I walk through the gray streets slowly, shuffling my feet. I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna see Aron or my mom. It's so hard having to define how strongly I feel about a memory all the time. It's like I'm reducing my memory down to a number. Jennifer said it's only an indicator. And it's not about how strongly you felt in that situation, it's about how it feels to look at it now. 

I don't know why I thought I could get therapy and magically get over myself. I thought it'd be a quick fix but it's happening so slowly. Too slowly. 

I look to my right, the cars race by on the street. 

I get a little rush of adrenaline as I think about walking out in front of one of these cars and just giving up. 

Then I shake my head and keep walking.