Emotionally Disconnected

"But, how do you do it?"

By now, he had moved on to wiping down the coffee makers. It was almost closing time and they were both hoping no more customers came.

"Did you learn it in the Navy?"

How did she do it? It was the first time she had actually thought about it. She had no idea how she did it. Maybe she was aware of an effort at one point to tone down her emotions, but that must have been a long time ago and now she couldn't change it if she tried.

She thought back to her post-discharge therapy. She went for a year. Anytime someone asked her how it was going, she raved about her sessions.

"They're helping so much!" She would tell everyone.

Her therapist was really helping her transition into civilian life and getting her back in touch with her emotions. Part of her knew that she was lying, though.

The therapist sat in front of her.

"Today marks the halfway point of our year together! And, just like always, we're going to begin this session by re-affirming our ultimate goal here. Remember, it's okay for us to adjust it as necessary. Is it still the same?"

"Yes. I want to be able to feel again." She felt nervous, as she usually did.

It was hard talking so candidly about her feelings and about difficult situations she had been through.

"Okay, well last week, we didn't quite finish up our conversation about your three years spent on ship duty. Do you want to finish that, or is something else on your mind?"

She hated choosing new things to talk about. She would spend all week thinking 'I am definitely going to remember this for therapy next week,' but once she walked into the room, her mind was always blank.

"Yes, we can continue," she said, exhaling loudly.

"Okay." The therapist opened a notebook. "I believe we were getting into talking about the four men you worked closest with. You were saying you didn't get along with them?"

"That's understating it, but yes, we didn't get along. They were constantly complaining about my mechanical skills. When my boss finally had enough of it and put me in charge of all the paperwork, they complained more than before, with comments along the lines that I wasn't working as hard as them, disregarding the fact that I stayed later than them most of the time. Sometimes overnight. My boss was more worried about being everyone's friend than their boss, so he never said anything. I tried talking to my mom about the situation, but her reaction was to ask me what I was doing wrong to make them not like me. I stopped talking to my friends about it after some of them asked if I was being overly sensitive and the others tried to push me to report it. I didn't want to cause problems by reporting any of it, so I tried to deal with it on my own. I stopped talking to my friends about it altogether after a while."

"How did that work out for you?"

"I spent most nights crying myself to sleep over comments my co-workers would make and how they made me feel."

"How did they make you feel?"

She groaned, "I don't remember."

The therapist looked at her with evident skepticism.

"Okay, then," the therapist sighed. "Let's try an exercise. I want you to close your eyes and think about your low point during your time on the ship, the moment you felt at your worst. Try to remember what you saw, what you felt, what you smelled, and heard. Give me every detail. I'll give you a moment to orient yourself and tell me where you are when you're ready."

She closed her eyes and could almost feel the spray from the ocean as the wind hit her face.

"I'm standing near the open hangar bay door, leaning against the chain linked railing. The shop had finished replacing a piece of machinery and our boss gave us permission to go. It was late, though. Maybe ten o'clock at night. I had watch from midnight to six in the morning, so I was worried if I went to sleep now, I wouldn't be able to get up in time."