Last Place You Look

Chapter 51

TW// mentions of suicide

Things were bad again. A week had passed since my father's funeral and it set in about two days after we buried him that I was literally never going to hug him again. He wasn't going to be at my wedding, he wasn't going to be at Thanksgiving or Christmas. He wasn't going to be called Grandpa or read books to my kids. We weren't going to be able to share any of the things we wanted to share.

My time with him was actually gone.

I didn't dissociate like last time. I stayed present. I forced myself to cry. I forced myself to feel it. Harry asked me not to leave him again, so I tried my damn hardest not to.

I found a therapist too. Her name was Jody and she was in her 50s but she had a kind face. I'd called my old therapist, even though it had been years since I saw her and asked for referrals. Jody seemed like the best fit. She sent Jody my files from the last time I'd seen her and wished me well.

The morning of my appointment was calmer than it should have been. Harry was already at work when I woke up. I woke up before my alarm, made breakfast and coffee. I finished a manuscript I was reading and sent my notes to Ryan. But then noon rolled around and the pit in my stomach came back.

I've always had a complicated relationship with therapy. I know that therapy is good. I know it's meant to help people. But the overwhelming idea that I could be in therapy for the rest of my life and never feel any better stared me down and drowned out all the good things about it. I thought about canceling for 20 minutes and then realized it was too late to cancel about 23 hours beforehand.

So I got dressed and made myself to leave. I tapped the wheel the entire time I was driving and bounced my leg in the waiting room. I was positive the receptionist could feel my anxiety from across the waiting room. It was simple. Light grey walls, decorative art. The dark wood of the receptionist's desk reminded me of the nightstands on either side of Harry and I's bed. The thought of being in bed seemed so much better than being where I was.

"Charlie?" My name came from a door. I looked up and a woman who I recognized as Jody was looking at me. "You can come on in." She had a kind smile and crow's feet. The vibe of her office dissolved some of my anxieties. it reminded me of my dad's office. There was a large bookcase behind her desk, degrees lined up on the wall. Her desk was clean and organized, just like his was for about a week after he cleaned it. She had pictures of what I presumed was her family all over the walls. In the middle of the room was a large rug, two comfortable chairs in the middle of it.

She shook my hand and motioned to a chair. "Alright, Charlie. So this isn't your first time in therapy, correct?" I shook my head yes. "What made you stop going?"

"I was convinced that therapy was a waste of my time and that it wasn't going to help anyway. I was on medication for my depression and anxiety, but I stopped those too."

"And you came to that conclusion after you started going?"

"Not exactly. I had a boyfriend when I stopped going. He wasn't exactly the nicest guy I'd ever met and he told me it was a waste of time, that I just needed to be happier."

"And did that work? Just being happier."

"Obviously not, that's why I'm here again."

"What made you want to start coming again?

"Well, it's been five years since I broke up with my ex and I'm engaged now. We've been together for almost three years. I've lost two of the most important people in that span of time and it broke me. He's had to just put up with my issues, and he's never once complained, but I want I be better. But not just for him. For me too. I deserve it. We both do."