Doubt That

Naomi

It's not that I never wanted to forgive her. I just didn't want to be forced into forgiving her. If she had just pulled herself together then everything would be as it was, all the same, much happier and much better. But I'm done with the 'if only' and 'if just'. There's no point. Nothing can ever change what happened and unless I choose to crawl into the covers, burying my thoughts with blasting music, then I have to move on.

My first session with the group, or as I like to call them 'the psycho depressive wackos', was based on anger. Apparently (according to the psycho depressive wackos leader Connor), anger is a very normal feeling to have towards either yourself or the certain person which the reason for attenind this psycho depressive wacko thing was about. I personally had a huge amount of anger to give out.

It must have been two weeks ago. The typical Sunday lunch we've been having since forever. Except this 'typical' one was with burnt beef, forgotten Yorkshire puddings and boiled potatoes. My dad sat at the head of the table, wiping his chin every five seconds in fear of looking like a slob. The ever so perfect Melissa sat opposite me, delicatley choppig her food into a tiny square before placing it into her perfectly matt, red lips with a comment about how lovely the flavour  of this is or how cooked to perfection  this is. I however, somewhat less impressed with the dining experience, had mashed my potatoes into an attempt of creating mashed potato and was now seperating my dry beef and fat. Melissa sensed a pause in the none existent conversation and folded her hands neatly on the edge of the table before speaking.

"I've got some big news to share. Theo and I are having a baby."

The emphasis on her husbands name was an attempt to show that she wasn't the dominant one in the relationship and that this sudden urge for a child was all her idea.

"Sweetheart that is wonderful news. Just imagine how wonderful it would be to habe a little Melissa or Theodore running around. Wonderful, so wonderful. Naomi, isn't it wonderful?" My father directed his gaze to me, still holding his napkin.

Wonderful wasn't exactly the word I'd use to describe this.

Here's what you need to understand about Melissa; there are three basic rules to how she communicates.

Rule 1: She says exactly what she wants with full eye contact, scaring you into agreeing.

Rule 2: She pretends to want the opposite of what she really wants, making you suggest the other.

Rule 3: She says an indirect comment with a certain emotion attached to it, hiting you to agree with that emotion.

This was a rule 3 moment.

"If it's what you want?" I asked, avoiding Melissa's gaze.

"Of course it's what I want, why else would I be doing it."

"That's a fair point," I said, waving my fork about with a pile of squished potato stuck to the end.

Melissa suddenly seemed less calm and if you looked close enough you could see that one strand of hair had moved a milimetre in the wrong direction of her parting.

"I told you this would happen Daddy," revelaed melissa.

Strangley my father seemed unaware that this conversation had taken place between himself and the princess and strangley he went along with it.

"What do you mean you knew this would happen? What the hell is happening?" I retorted.

"It was only a matter of time before you became jealous of my life."

At this point Melissa flicked her hair, as if her brown glossy straight mop was something to be jealous of, but it tempted me to consider dragging her to the nearest pair of scissors and hacking it all off.

"I'm not jealous of your life, especially not the fact that you're getting fat. I'm not sure now is the perfect time to think about starting a family."

"And why's that then?"

"Because you can't replace mum."

Melissa pulled down the sleeves on her white chiffon dress, "I'm not trying to."

"But do you really think that by having a baby you can forget about mum. Running around after a little toddler isn't going to make you hurt less. Jusy do something else to feel better."

"Do something else to feel better?! Do you hear yourself?"

"Do you hear yourself?" I snapped, "You can't just create a human being to bury all your feelings away, pain doesn't work like that and although you may be a heartless bitch at times, even you can't cover up mum's death with a baby."

I had offically done it. That weekend my own methods of grief were deemed 'inefficient' and I was signed up to a place for psycho depressve wackos to sit down and talk about thier problems with the trusty leader Connor until they had 'fully recovered' from the trauma they had suffered. I'm not sure why it was considered to be my trauma, I'm pretty sure the dead people were the ones who had suffered the trauma.

The anger talks started with this sad woman who went on and on about how she blamed herself all the time for what happened to this other woman. I'm not sure who she was talking about but she seemed to love her very much. She was so apologetic to everyone for everything she said. Preaching about forgiveness for yourself and others was a common topic. The more I tried to listen to these people, the more disinterested I became. I didn't want to sit in a room with people who had all lost someone in their lives. Hearing about their depression wasn't going to help mine.

"Naomi?"

I suddenly looked up from my nails and noticed all the psycho depressive wackos were looking at me.

"Would you like to share something?" asked Connor.

His hands were placed firmly on his right knee, his battered finger interlocking. I noticed that his dark hair had a few grey hairs in, revealing his age.

"I don't think so."

Connor gave a sympatheitc smile, "We've all been there. Maybe next week you'll feel more comfortable sharing? Remember this is a confidential group and we've all gone through the same thing."

I doubt that.