heartstrings

Chapter 64

Nicholas
April 23th 2018

"How have you been feeling lately, Nicholas?"

Dr. Anderson's voice is calm, as always, and it cuts through the silence of her office like a warm knife. I take a deep breath, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

The room smells faintly of lavender, the air thick with the quiet hum of the small desk fan in the corner. Her eyes are on me, steady and patient, and I can feel them waiting for an answer.

"I've been feeling... better," I say, choosing my words carefully.

It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth, either. I've been better, but I've also been worse. There are good days, and there are bad days, and I'm not sure if today is either of those yet.

Dr. Anderson nods slowly, her expression thoughtful.

"That's good to hear," she says softly. "What's been better for you lately?"

I shrug, avoiding her gaze. I'm not really sure how to answer that. What's better? Everything and nothing, all at once. "I don't know," I mumble. "Just... things. I'm not as... I don't know, overwhelmed, I guess."

She nods again, her eyes never leaving my face.

"That's a good start, Nicholas. It's important to recognize even the small improvements. But remember, it's okay to have mixed feelings, too. It's okay to have days that aren't great."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I don't want to get into all of it. Not today. Not when it feels like everything is just barely held together by a thin thread. I'm afraid if I start talking about it, it'll all come undone.

I know I've been quiet in these sessions, not giving her much to work with. Part of me feels bad about it, but another part—maybe a bigger part—feels like I'm protecting myself.

She lets the silence hang for a moment longer, then shifts in her chair.

"I know this is difficult for you, Nicholas, and I want you to know that you're in control here. You decide what you want to talk about. But I think it might be helpful today if we talked a little bit about your drug use. If you're comfortable with that."

I tense up immediately, my hands clenching into fists on my lap.

"Why?" I ask, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Dr. Anderson doesn't react to my tone. She just watches me with those steady, calm eyes of hers.

"I think it has a lot to do with how you're feeling, Nicholas," she says gently. "Substance use can be a way of coping with difficult emotions, with pain that feels too overwhelming to deal with on its own. And I want to help you find healthier ways to cope."

I feel my jaw tighten, my whole body going rigid. I don't want to talk about this. I don't want to talk about why I started using or how it felt. I don't want to remember any of it.

"I'm not using anymore," I mutter, my eyes fixed on the floor. "So, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter," she says, her voice still soft but firm.

"It matters because you're here, and you're trying to get better. And understanding why you turned to drugs in the first place can help us figure out what you need now, to stay on this path."

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of her words pressing down on me. I know she's right, but it doesn't make it any easier to talk about.

"I don't know," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I just... I needed something to make it stop. To make everything stop."

"What were you trying to stop, Nicholas?" she asks, her voice gentle, probing.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "The pain," I say after a long pause.

Dr. Anderson nods, her expression understanding. "That makes a lot of sense. You've been through a lot, and sometimes, when we're in pain, we reach for whatever will numb it, even if it's not good for us. It's a way of surviving, of getting through the day. But it's not a long-term solution, is it?"

"No," I admit quietly. "It's not. It just made everything worse in the end."

She gives me a small, encouraging smile. "It's really brave of you to recognize that. And to be here, trying to find another way. That takes a lot of strength."

I nod, not sure if I believe her but wanting to. I've spent so long feeling weak, feeling like I'm not enough, that it's hard to see myself as strong. But I'm trying. God, I'm trying so hard.

"Can you tell me more about when you first started using?" she asks, her tone careful, like she's afraid of pushing too hard. "What was going on for you at that time?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to push down the flood of memories that her question brings up.

"I don't know," I say, my voice tight. "It was after my mom... after she died. I just couldn't handle it. I didn't know what to do with myself, with all the... all the stuff inside me. I felt like I was going to explode."

Dr. Anderson nods, her expression gentle. "That's completely understandable, Nicholas."

I don't say anything, my eyes fixed on the floor. I don't want to cry. I don't want to break down here, not now. But the memories are like a tidal wave, crashing over me, threatening to pull me under.

"Did you feel like you didn't have anyone to turn to?" she asks softly.

I nod, my throat tight. "Yeah," I whisper. "My dad wasn't really there, you know? And everyone else... they just didn't understand. They didn't get it. So I just... I did what I had to do to get through it."

She nods, her eyes softening with empathy. "But you're not alone now. You have people who care about you, who want to help you. And you have me, to help you navigate this, to help you find a way to heal."

I nod, swallowing hard. I know she's right, but it's hard to believe it sometimes. It's hard to trust that things can be different, that I can be different.

"I don't know if I can do this," I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

Dr. Anderson leans forward slightly, her expression earnest. "You are. You're stronger than you think. Just the fact that you're here, that you're willing to talk about these things, shows how strong you are. Healing is a process, and it's not easy, but you're already doing it. You're already taking those steps."

I nod, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. I want to believe her. I want to believe that I can do this, that I can get better. "I just... I don't want to feel like this anymore," I whisper, my voice cracking.

"I know," she says softly. "And you won't always feel this way. It's going to take time, and it's going to take work, but you're already on the right path. You're already making progress, even if it doesn't always feel like it."

I nod again, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. I feel raw, exposed, like a nerve that's been laid bare. But there's also a small flicker of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, I can get through this.

We sit in silence for a while, the only sound the soft hum of the fan and the ticking of the clock on the wall. I feel like I've just run a marathon, my body heavy with exhaustion.

"Do you want to keep talking, or would you like to take a break?" Dr. Anderson asks gently.

I take a deep breath, considering her question. I don't know if I can keep going right now, but I also don't want to stop. I don't want to leave this room feeling like I've left things unfinished.

"I think... I think I need a break," I admit finally.

She nods, giving me a reassuring smile. "That's perfectly fine. We can take things at your pace. You're doing really well."