London

36 - "The usual, pain, hate, love."

Alex

My days are spent with exercise, walking outside with Liam, cleaning their house and one on one therapy. Somewhere in between I get time for myself that I spent reading Nina's books. Part of it all feels heavenly. That's until I watch my phone and see it empty of messages from Harry.

On the other hand, the therapy is great. My psychiatrist is a middle-aged man who looks like he could be James Bond. He just happens to be the best listener there is. He also rarely talks back. He just sits down and asks what I want to talk about and so far, that seems to be a lot. At first it was a bit funny, but after three sessions, I got into it. I treat him as if he's Harry. I tell him everything Harry wouldn't listen to and slowly we're moving from present to past.

"Can you tell me what you do remember of your mother? Can be everything. Good or bad memories."

He looks at me for a moment. So far I've managed to not talk about her too much. Almost everything I've told him is about Harry and my father. My mother is someone I don't think about much, at least not knowingly.

"I don't remember many good things about her," I say.

"What do you remember of her?"

"She was extreme in everything she did. If she was tired, she'd sleep all day. If she was jealous she'd tear up the house. It made it impossible for her to do anything around the house or to really help me raise."

"Do you believe she loved you?"

His question makes my heart stop for a minute. The last time I saw her she told me she didn't.

"She said she didn't," I quietly answer. I tug up my feet and hug my legs close to my chest. As if they work as a protection shield this way. The memory still hurts though, just as much as it did then.

"She never did anything right?"

"Not much, no," I mumble.

He takes a moment to scramble down some notes. One of my first questions was if I was able to read them, but they are confidential and only meant for him and his team. I can't help my curiosity. He still hasn't told me if I have anything at all. For all I know I'm just a bit troubled and there's really no reason for me to be here all the time.

"Name me one good memory of her."

This takes me a long time, but I know we have loads of that here. So after I've almost drank my entire cup of tea, I come up with one.

"No matter what, she always came to my swimming contests. Dressed in her finest clothes of course, to show off to the other mother's. So they wouldn't think of going after my father if she looked like that. She was pretty."

"Is there a possibility she wouldn't miss one because she wanted to see her child enjoy exercise and being good at something? You told me before you had talent and speed in the water."

"No," I snort. He clearly never met her.

"I'm sure there were plenty of other places and opportunities where women could hit on her husband. Why always go to your games? Can you try and really make it a good memory of her? Without it naming one of her flaws."

"I don't know how," I admit to him, frowning deeply as I think of her more and more. "I was young when she left. I don't remember much of her and when I think of her it is always painful."

"Try again," he says and I close my eyes.

Part of me wants to get angry at him. I've tried that a couple of times, but he just keeps quiet and doesn't respond. Fighting when someone doesn't fight back is boring. I quickly learned that in the end he's here to help me and it's hard to help someone if all they do is deny and yell nothing is wrong. I know that from experience.