Studio 22 | Mary-Kate Olsen

Chapter Eight

February 10th 2022 - New York City - Safe Haven Community Centre

The past week I've been trying more. It's been exhausting but it's been helping, I've not felt so stuck or consumed by memories, my mind has been focused on other things, things in the present. I've had regular contact with Jazz and not just when she's been asked to come over by my parents to watch me whilst I'm home alone. We've been out in the city. We hung out at Central Park for a few hours on Thursday, and we pretty much fell asleep on the phone every night with each other this week. I've also been out with Sage this week. We went to lunch, and we got to catch up with each other. I told him about the support group. He thinks it's stupid too, and I'm so glad he understands. Sage always saw things from my point of view, partly because we have been through the exact same life experiences, so there really is only that point of view to see things from.

He said, "I wouldn't be going to make mum smile. It sounds boring and a waste of time." And he wasn't completely wrong. It wasn't so boring, hearing about all the amazing soldiers and what they sacrificed for their country was fascinating, but it was a waste of my time. I didn't gain anything from going. Mum thought it would be this big turning point for me. I'd open up like some sort of flower in bloom, and all my problems would melt away. But my flower was stuck in winter and wasn't ready to bloom for some months.

I sat in my chair as I did every week, listening, taking everything in, coping strategies, stories, and motivational statements. My eyes fixated on a spot on the floor whilst my hands were busy fiddling with my dog tags that hung around my neck. I was cautious about coming back this week as Will had tried to get me to share last week, and I walked out, but he hadn't said anything to me so far, and we were halfway through the session. Cindy was telling the group about her experiences with PTSD. My doctor said it was likely that I'd develop it, but so far, only my dreams have been haunting me. Though, when I wake up from the bad memory, Sage is laid at the end of my bed, holding my hand, running his thumb across the back of it soothes me. We make brief eye contact in the moonlit room, but neither of us says anything. Sage may not always be around, not like he used to be anyway, but he was always there for me when I really needed him. I haven't woken up from a bad dream without him there yet and that is what counts. I know he has his own stuff going on, and I've not worked out what exactly, but I can take an educated guess as to what he's been up to over the past few years. I try my best to be there when he needs me.

The other morning I woke up early to go on a run, yes I'm attempting to get back into fitness. It's a great escape. When I went into the kitchen to fill my water bottle up, Sage was passed out in the kitchen on the cool, hard tiles. I tapped him with my foot a few times, and he made some noises. I took the hint that he was pretty out of it and not just because he was half asleep. I helped him to his bed before our parents saw him. As loving and compassionate as our parents are, there are certain things we know not to push the boundaries with, and getting ourselves into states like that is one of those things. We were taught better than that, to be in complete control at all times for our own safety, and others too. Sage, although didn't cover for me when I got in such a state, he did come and pick me up. This was the least I could do for him. He's been my safe haven since getting home; covering his intoxicated state a few times is minor compared to the comfort he has brought me. We have each other's backs just as much as we did when we were children and we were covering for each other for stealing candy from the snack cabinet. I liked that we had an unbreakable bond, nothing in the world will ever compare to the bond I have with my brother. Nothing would come close. No one understands me like he does, and no one will ever understand him like I do.

"Blue." I looked up at the sound of my name and searched for the owner. Of course, I recognised the voice straight away, it was Will, no one else dared speak to me besides him and Cindy. I guess it's because I was so quiet, and I've walked out twice and made it pretty clear I didn't want to be here. Maybe they thought it was mandatory for me to attend because my doctor thinks I'm crazy or something. "Yeah?" "Have you had any experience with that?" "With PTSD?" "Or similar?" "No, not really," I say softly, finding my spot on the floor again and focusing my gaze on it, making the rest of the room blur around me. "What do you mean by not really?" I shrugged, "I have bad dreams sometimes but that's nothing." "Minimising your experiences won't make them go away," Cindy reminded me. I held back the eye roll. "What happens when you have a bad dream?" Will pushed. I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. He simply smiled and gestured for me to take the floor and talk. "Um, I have a dream about stuff. I wake up breathing heavily, I guess, my chest is sometimes tight." I shrugged again not really knowing what he wanted me to say. "How do you deal with that?" "I don't know." "What do you do when you wake up? It'll be helpful for others if you share your ways of coping." "My brother is always there," I say simply. He gestured for me to go on again. Begrudgingly I do, "When I wake up, he's there. I assume he hears me, our rooms are next door to each other. He's my twin, so he calms me pretty quickly." I crack my fingers. "Not really helpful to anyone who doesn't have or live with a twin." The group chuckled at my lame attempt at a joke. "It sounds like you have a good support system at home." "Yeah, my family is great." Will moved on to someone else, knowing not to ask me to share any more than I have. That was the most I had told them.