heartstrings

Chapter 60

Nicholas
April 3th 2018

"Nicholas, can you tell me what you remember about the day your mom drowned?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I tense up, my eyes immediately dropping to my lap. I don't want to be here.

I don't want to talk about her, and I definitely don't want to talk about that day. But here I am, sitting across from Dr. Anderson in this too-bright office, feeling exposed under the fluorescent lights.

I stare at the fraying edges of my jeans, picking at a loose thread.

"I don't really remember much," I lie, my voice flat.

But the truth is, I remember every single detail. I remember the gray sky that morning, the damp chill in the air, the way the light had looked strange and distorted through the rippling water. I remember everything.

Dr. Anderson doesn't push right away. She just nods, giving me a moment.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," she says, her voice calm and steady. "But sometimes, sharing these memories can help us understand how events have shaped the way we feel and act now."

I feel my jaw clench. I don't want to "share" anything. I don't want to do this at all.

But I know why I'm here. Eve and Matt insisted on therapy after my -my accident.
They think talking will help, but I'm not so sure.

"I remember finding her," I say finally, my voice barely audible.

"In the lake. She was just... floating there." I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can feel the tremor creeping in. "I didn't know what to do. I just froze."

Dr. Anderson nods again, her expression sympathetic but not pitying.

"That must have been incredibly hard. To find her like that, especially at such a young age."

I shrug, trying to act like it doesn't matter. "I got over it," I say, but we both know that's a lie.

"Did you?" Dr. Anderson asks gently, her eyes never leaving my face. "It's okay if you haven't, you know. A loss like that, especially in such a traumatic way, can have a long-lasting impact. It's not something you just 'get over.'"

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting back the sadness that's starting to bubble up inside me.

"She's dead. She left. What else is there to say?"

"There's a lot to say, Nicholas," Dr. Anderson replies softly. "Your mother's death, the way it happened, and the fact that you found her—it's no wonder you're struggling. It's a huge burden to carry, especially on your own."

I glare at her, my hands balling into fists in my lap. "I'm not carrying anything," I snap.
"She made her choice. She wanted to leave. That's on her, not me."

But really i wasn't blaming her, i don't know why i get so angry when i talk about it to other people. She was in a lot of pain and her life just didn't feel worth living anymore – i know the feeling– so why do i sound so angry?

Dr. Anderson stays calm, her voice gentle. "It's okay to feel angry at her for what she did. It's a natural response to losing someone in such a painful way. But it's also important to recognize how that anger—and the grief—might be affecting you now."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Affecting me how? You think because she... because she killed herself, that's why I'm... what? Depressed? Using drugs?"

"It could be part of it," she says carefully. "You went through something incredibly traumatic, and it's not uncommon for people to turn to substances as a way of coping with pain they don't know how to handle.
It's also not uncommon for those who've experienced such a loss to struggle with feelings of abandonment or self-worth."

I feel my chest tighten, a familiar panic rising up in my throat.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I say, my voice sharp. "This is pointless."

"I understand this is difficult." Dr. Anderson says softly. "But talking about it can help. Even if it feels painful now, it can help you find ways to cope with the pain and move forward."

Move forward. The words feel hollow, like something people say when they don't know what else to say. How am I supposed to move forward when I can't escape the past? When every time I close my eyes, I see her face underwater, her hair floating around her like some kind of twisted halo?

"I don't know how to do that," I admit, my voice breaking. "I don't know how to move on from something like this."

Dr. Anderson nods, leaning forward slightly. "It's okay to not know. That's why we're here—to figure it out together. To find ways to help you heal, one step at a time."

I don't respond. I don't know what to say. Part of me wants to get up and walk out, to run away from all of this. But another part of me knows that there's nowhere to run. The pain, the memories—they'll follow me wherever I go.

"Nicholas," she says, her voice softer now, almost like she's trying to coax a frightened animal out of hiding. "What happened to your mother wasn't your fault. And the way you feel now, the things you've done to cope—they're not your fault either. But you have the power to change things, to find healthier ways to deal with the pain. And I'm here to help you do that."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I don't know if I believe her. I don't know if I believe that any of this will help. But maybe it's worth a shot. Maybe, just maybe, talking about it will make the memories hurt a little less.

"Okay," I say quietly. "I'll try."

Dr. Anderson gives me a small, encouraging smile. "That's all I ask, Nicholas. One step at a time."

One step at the time.