Rocketship

Chapter Eleven: the anniversary

A/N: (TW: mentions of loss and grieving).

Marci's POV:

"How're you feeling today, Marci?" Dr. Davis asked me in her low velvety voice.

I didn't quite meet her eye contact, mindlessly picking at the cracked upholstery on the armrest of the chair I was sitting in across from her desk. I finally looked up at her with a sigh. "I'm doing fine."

She remained strategically silent, waiting for me to expand. I was convinced that creating uncomfortable silence was the first technique all psychologists learned in school in order to get people to talk.

Even though I knew that's what she was doing, it still worked. I didn't like awkward silence. "Um, I'm doing well... I have a new job, I'm sleeping fine; I think I'm in a good place."

It was true; I really felt that I was in a good place for the most part... besides my unrequited crush on my boss, and my uncertainty about my feelings for my boyfriend, but I wasn't going to talk to Dr. Davis about that. I figured I could talk to her about my feelings of inadequacy for not being able to find a real job, or the strange panic attack I had at the grocery store the other day... but I really didn't want to talk about those things either.

I had been seeing Dr. Davis off and on for the past 4 years. I initially started seeing her for my generalized anxiety, and then for my "inappropriate" grieving when my mom died. I had never realized that there were inappropriate ways to grieve, but it turns out that not sleeping was definitely a sign that I wasn't grieving appropriately.

"That's wonderful, Marci. I know this time of the year can be challenging for you, but I'm pleased by your resilience."

I tensed up slightly. She was referring to the anniversary of my mother's death, which just so happened to be today. It marked 2 years since her passing.

Sometimes it felt like she had been gone a lot longer. Other times, it felt so fresh and new. As time went on, coping with her being gone got easier; I was able to sleep again, I had less panic attacks, I could look at a photograph of her without breaking down, but that wasn't to say that some days weren't still harder than others. I was never able to shake the lingering ache caused by the fact that the one person that loved me most in the world was taken from me. Gone forever. And I don't think I'd ever be able to.

"Yeah," I simply said. I didn't feel like confessing that I still had the dream either.

Ever since my mom died, I had a recurring dream that replayed the moment I got the phone call telling me she had died in a car accident.

It would start with me in my dorm room at UCLA, I'd get a phone call from the police telling me my mom had been in a fatal accident. I'd freak out and rush home only to find her completely fine sitting on the couch. She'd tell me that she was okay, and it was all just a mistake. After the dream, I'd wake up relieved for the briefest of moments before realizing that she wasn't fine. That she was gone.

And the pain would feel new again, even if it was just for a second.

My mind went blank the rest of the visit, switching to autopilot, and saying anything that would get me out of there the fastest. I had to be at Nikki's that afternoon, and I didn't want to be late.

"I want you to follow up with your psychiatrist, Marci. I think he'll be able to lower your dose of setraline," she told me at the end of the appointment.

I nodded and thanked her for her time, then ran off. Today was hard, I'll admit that, but what I needed was a good distraction, and I knew I'd get at Nikki's.