The World In A Spectrum

A visit with my therapist

Writing about our life together is taxing on me physically and mentally. I was thinking about this as I lay curled up in the fetal position in my bath tub, rocking myself a little bit to calm down. Before this moment, I had begun to write the next piece of my little project when I remembered exactly how it felt to kiss her. 

Even after years of being with her, kissing her was always soft, flower blooming type of feeling, full of love and the made both of us shiver. That thought alone forced me to think about how I would never be able to kiss her again and suddenly I was in the bathroom vomiting dinner. Which lead me to crawl into the bath tub afterwards. The bath tub and I had grown to be good friends.

I was weak, and In pain. The bath tub seemed like a good place to ride this out. I had taken to curling up in the bath tub when I had panic attacks or started to lose my mind. My therapist told me, this was a wrong coping mechanism and that I should try to steer away from the bath tub in times of suffering, because it wouldn't do good for my mental well being. I knew that I should care, but I really didn't. The small space was comforting to me. It made me feel safe, because there wasn't a world outside my bath tub. It wasn't even seven o clock and here I was crying so hard everything hurt.

But in my opinion everything hurt anyway. My lungs hurt, I could never take a breath without glass piercing my lungs. The beats in my chest, the steady pump of my heart crushed me. It was painful to live. That's why I was seeing a therapist now. My parents recommended it too me so I would hopefully find some peace from the death of my wife. However it just made me angrier and more bitter. My parents whose relationship I worshipped for all their happiness and love, I now loathed. My hatred for my parents was misplaced. They weren't the reason why Sophia was gone. They just wanted me to be happy. That's why they suggested therapy to try and help me move on.

But I did not want to move on. I wanted my life back. We were supposed to be happy and live together for the rest of our lives. This wasn't fair to me. This wasn't fair to her. We were supposed to love each other. Tears flowed down my face freely. I choked on more bile and dragged myself to my toilet and heaved, nothing left in my stomach so this white liquid came out every time I heaved. This was so pointless. My life was just one circle of madness and I never saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I mean for God sakes, everything was black, white and grey. There was literally no light in my life anymore. What was the point? What is the point? Why am I like this?

My breath shuddered from my lungs and I looked at my medicine cabinet and thought to myself quietly, I can make this all go away. The hair on my arms and legs stood up. I won't have to go through this pain any longer. I can turn it all off. My legs shook as I raised myself to my feet and I braced against the wall from support and eyed the cabinet warily. My patience was failing Me, I shoved myself from them wall and stumbles into the hallway past the cabinet where I could have ended all of this. My hand found my phone in the guest room next to the bathroom. I couldn't push myself to sleep in our bedroom, so I slept in the guest bedroom.

Our bed was in the master, how could I sleep in it without her? How could I live my life without her? How could I cope without her? My heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn't breathe, everything seemed to be crushing me. My fingers mindlessly tapped the familiar numbers in hopes the ringing would start, so I could find some peace before I completely spun away from the world. The little beep of the phone soothed me, and the ringing went for a second or two before a deep voice sounded:

"Cadeance, is everything okay?"

"Not at all, sir, I want to die again, I just want to know when this will all end, when I will start feeling better." I trailed off, at a loss for what to do. Then I heard a small sigh and the voice picked back up again.

"I will help you as soon as i can, I'm on my way, be there shortly."

The line went dead and I laid back and stared at the ceiling. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, my therapist showed up at my door and we both settled in chairs in my kitchen. "so what happened, you had told me you'd been feeling a lot better? " he asked, comforting Black eyes staring into mine. He told me they were brown at one point. I had no other option but to believe him. "I don't know. One minute, I was feeling decent and then I wrote about our first date, our first kiss and I just slowly lost it." I said softly, moving to stare at my clasped hands.

"Remember, we have to be calm and remind ourselves of what we're really here for."

It would be like me to be so melodramatic, but he always promises that it's normal to feel super stressed during this type of therapy and that with some patience, I would eventually make some progress and be able to feel a little bit better. My mind considered this could all be a mistake and he could be lying to me.

But I have to remind myself, and he has to remind me, everything will be okay so long as I keep my eyes on the prize. The prize being Sophia and I's daughter.