Spider Dancer

Stand Firm......

"Welcome back Jackie. How have you been since our last discussion? Did you do the exercises that we had talked about?" Asked an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair. His skin still smooth with wrinkles just barely starting to show. The brown sweater and tan khaki pants screamed cliché elderly man, but the way his voice sounded when he spoke said he was kind, understanding, and patient. Looking down at my hands and notice a wrinkle on my dress so I smooth it out. Not looking up from my hands, "Hello, Dr. Proctor. I have been ok, the nightmares still happen often and when I wake up I still find it hard to fall back asleep." "And do you write in the journal about the nightmares like we discussed?" Dr. Proctor asked. Nodding I retrieve the journal from my purse and hand it over to the shrink without looking at him. When I sit back down I hear a slight sigh from him. Making it clear that my swift and effortless movements can even make the simplest of tasks look picture-perfect. "And the exercises?" The doctor questioned setting the journal on the side table next to him. I think back to my room and how spotless it is. No dust, trash, nothing looks unperfect as everything is neat and untouched. I shake my head no, the fear and trauma of not putting on the display that everything was perfect and nothing darker was going on.

Tears threaten to show their face as the shame of my failure to try to keep my past at bay even though it constantly shows its power over me. "Well that is fine we are working at your pace. Writing in the journal is a good first step. Don't push yourself too far you could damage yourself more." Placing a crumpled piece of paper and a dirty plate on the table that separated us he continued. "Small baby steps can help you make the first step to a better you. A mess is imperfectly perfect as it reminds us that we are humans. That we aren't perfect even in the slightest. Admitting that can help us understand ourselves better and find a good medium that we are ok with being as a whole. Now I will set a timer for 15 minutes if you can last that long without moving the items on the table you can remove them. Does that sound doable?" Dr. Proctor asked his head looking at me hoping for a verbal response. My eyes never left the plate and paper since he set them down. Nodding slowly I try to distract myself and look elsewhere.

I look at the bland beige-colored walls not much covers the walls mostly just his college degree from Bolton state, license to be a psychiatrist, and a metal square with 4 smaller squares all different colors. Obviously, he doesn't know how to decorate, I think it's supposed to be on its corner not flat like another picture frame. Probably got that as a gift for the office or his office supervisors have horrible taste for their employee's offices. I'll have to get him something really stylish for this bland place it feels so empty. "See something out of place?" Dr. Proctor questioned snapping me back to the conversation. Our eyes meet, without giving it a second longer I look at my hands again. "I apologize. I just noticed that the square over there is not sitting right. I believe that it is supposed to be on the corner not on its side." Looking at the tacky metal art piece he responds, "No need to apologize. Curiosity is a normal thing to experience. But you are probably right I didn't hang it up so I wouldn't know." Looking back at the journal in his hands as he flips through it. My task was to fill it with as many details as I can recall and then write how it made me feel in that moment. Images of blood and gore flash through my mind and cease as quickly as they appeared when the timer finally went off. Grabbing the items off the table and disposing of them properly. I notice Proctor flinching at my sudden movements. I'm good at keeping things clean, painfully too good. Not looking back at the shrink I stare at the square art piece at my face now.

"Such vivid descriptions." The note made the shame and guilt hit my heart sink into my stomach. Breathing became a hard task to complete as images and voices gather in my head. The echoes growing louder with each image, memory, drop of blood, tear, smile, strike, loud voice. As I see the vase growing closer in my head I snap out of my trauma trance as he closes the journal and stands up. "You filled it already in a week. I'll give you a new one but in this journal I want you to write about your day. Doesn't have to be every detail just a brief description will do. just so i can see what can possibly be triggering these nightmares and we can try to work from there." Gently taking the plain tawny book I walk to my purse to put it in the large compartment. Nodding my head he opens the door for me signaling that our session is over. "Thank you, Dr. Proctor," I say as I exit the small room. "Of course and I'll be sure to put that back the way it was before you threw the trash." He stated as he noticed what my subconscious mind made my hands do to the only piece of art on his walls. Giving an apologetic nod I quickly head to the front desk. "Have a good day Miss. Calgen." Martha at the front desk chimed in as I reached the front door. Looking her in the eyes I throw on my best smile and reply, "Thank you, Ms. Martha. Give that boy of yours a big hug for me." "Will do," she stated as she looks back at her computer her faded pink scrubs showing the wear and tear from the years of use and them being her personal favorite. Her dark brown fur and bright green eyes not at all matching the color, but her confidence is admirable. Heading to my car I get in the back passenger seat.