Yours, Eternally(2015 Revision)

Chapter Twenty

 I tried to use my remaining time from work wisely and attempted to focus on other than Matt, but it was failing. My birthday came and passed without celebration. I arranged to see a grief counselor at the request of Kylie and Tyler because I was beginning to scare them. I tried to explain repeatedly to my them that everyone handles their grief differently and I just needed time, but they were at their wit's end. They had to understand that there would never be a full recovery or turn around in healing from this wound; my heart had been smashed with a mallet into a million tiny pieces and there was no putting it back together. My being turned into a numb nothingness, but at least I felt like I couldn't feel anymore. To me, a grief counselor was just another glorified name for a shrink, but I wanted to get them off my back.

The days following Matt's death turned into weeks and still my head still wasn't near getting to the right place, nor did I physically feel well. I continued to take my arrhythmia medication and I was in good health, according to Dr Owens, whom I visited a few days before for a follow-up, once again, at the demands of Kylie. Since they were home on Summer break, they stayed around the house a lot, trying to take care of me and keep me sane. I took to cleaning and re-cleaning everything and anything imaginable in my house and took up baking as a hobby. Every day, I found something new to make, from cookies to cakes and experimented with fondant, attempting to create edible masterpieces that could be seen on Cake Boss, all the while talking to an invisible somebody as I worked. Then I cleaned the kitchen again.

The only time I left the house was to run out for food or more supplies for my new-found interest, spending at least a hundred bucks a trip. It was becoming a huge expense, but spending the money was giving me temporary satisfaction before it turned to flat out buyer's remorse. I also gained about five pounds from all the baking. One would think that all the cleaning I've been doing would count as exercise and my weight would balance out. Nope, not the case. My cheeks, once hollowed out from days of starving myself in my depression, were now full and beginning to look like I had a chipmunk face, but overall, I was feeling...numbly content. That was, during the day. The nighttime was a different story. The dreams began again. They were not exactly nightmares, but realistic and terrifying enough that I didn't want to sleep, so then I started to force myself to stay awake as long as I could. I felt like a character in one of the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, and I sure was never going to be normal again.

My first appointment with Dr. Lornez, the grief counselor, was the following day. She was the first name that I saw as I flipped open the Yellow Pages as I was looked for grief counseling. The ad in the book read, ”Over 20 years of experience,” so I went with her. Kylie drove me into town the next morning and dropped me off in front of Dr. Lornez's private office for my first session. I walked in and was unpleasantly greeted by a snooty faced receptionist, who couldn't be a day over eighteen.

“Hi, I'm Addison Williams. I have a nine-thirty appointment.”

“Follow me.” She led me into a mundane room with brown leather furniture and brown carpeting and window fixtures. The color scheme chosen to decorate the room was dreadful, enough to drive a sane person into a depressed funk. A tall, dark-featured, middle-aged Amazon of a woman approached me and introduced herself. “Hi, Addison, it's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Dr. Lornez. Please, have a seat.”

I sank into the longer of the two leather sofas and placed my hobo bag at my side and looked at her. I stayed quiet, as I was anxious and didn't know how to act; this was so new for me.

“So, you said when you called that you suffered a traumatic loss. Tell me about yourself.” Dr. Lornez said, lowering herself in the leather loved seat across from me, and crossing her legs.

“Well,” I began. I didn't know how to start. Was I supposed to tell her my whole life story? “My boyfriend, I guess you can call him that, was just killed in a car accident.”