DEATH IS LIFE | SCREAM

16 Navigating the In-between

IN THE FOLLOWING WEEKS AFTER RETURNING TO NEE YORK, Tatum was buried with exams, various types of therapy, along with physical therapy for her neck and collarbone.

To say she was exhausted was an extreme understatement.

She felt like she was drowning with everything, but especially with all the therapy. It all felt silly, trying to understand other people's emotions when she could barely understand her own.

But she didn't want to end up as some washed-up version of herself, alone in a trailer, drowning her apathy in cheap alcohol.

Tatum wanted something different. She wanted control, but she didn't want to lose herself in it. She wanted to be better, or at least better enough to have some semblance of a normal life. She didn't care about being loved or understood, not really. But she didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to be feared to the point of isolation.

So, she played along in therapy, but this time it was different. This time, she wasn't just pretending for the sake of it. She wanted to understand what they were saying—not for the sake of empathy, but for survival. She didn't want to become the monster she knew was lurking under the surface, the one she feared would one day consume her entirely if she didn't at least try to change.

There were moments in therapy when she almost felt like something was shifting. Not enough to feel what they wanted her to, but enough to know that she could steer the course of her life in another direction. If she didn't, she knew exactly where she'd end up, and that terrified her more than anything else.

So she continued on with all the therapy.

Tatum sat in the brightly lit physical therapy room, as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, feeling the weight of the neck brace and the sling that immobilized her arm.

Karen, her physical therapist, entered with a clipboard in hand, a no-nonsense look on her face. "Alright, Tatum. Time to get started," she said, her voice firm yet encouraging. "How are you feeling today?"

"Like I'd rather be anywhere but here," Tatum replied, her tone laced with sarcasm. She could already tell this was going to be a long session.

"Fair enough," Karen said, undeterred. "But we need to work on your mobility and strength. Let's start with some basic range-of-motion exercises."

Tatum sighed and reluctantly followed Karen's instructions, moving her arm slowly. The pain shot through her collarbone like electricity, but she clenched her jaw and pushed through it, determined not to show weakness. "It hurts," she muttered, but she forced herself to continue.

"Good, let's focus on the shoulder now," Karen said, guiding her through a series of gentle stretches. "You have to listen to your body, but pushing through discomfort is part of the process."

As Tatum moved her arm, the pain intensified, but she kept going, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. This was supposed to be temporary; she reminded herself, just a minor setback.

After the initial exercises, Karen shifted the focus to strengthening. "Next, we'll work on some resistance exercises. I'll help you with a few bands to engage your shoulder and neck muscles."

Tatum groaned as Karen handed her a resistance band, demonstrating the exercise. "Pull against the band slowly," she instructed. "This will help rebuild your strength. We want to ensure your shoulder heals correctly."

Tatum complied, but as she pulled the band, a sharp pain radiated through her shoulder. She grimaced but didn't stop. "I'm fine," she insisted, though she felt her frustration bubbling to the surface.

After several rounds of resistance exercises, Karen took a moment to assess Tatum's progress. "You're doing well, but we need to make sure you're not overexerting yourself. Recovery is a gradual process," she said, her voice steady.