Tongue Tied

June 2018

"I just can't do it," I whined to the much-too handsome man who found himself in the unfortunate position of being my physiotherapist. "My body doesn't move like that anymore."

He sighed loudly, clearly unimpressed by my behaviour. "You can do it, even if it hurts. It might not be easy but you need to try. The more you move the easier it'll become and the better your body will feel."

I sniffed angrily. "You don't understand, it isn't easy. Every single part of my body aches. It hurts like you wouldn't believe. Then you're trying to contort me in all kinds of inhuman ways. You're a monster."

"I'm not a monster." He tried the softer approach with me, which only got my back up further. "I'm actually trying to help you, would you believe."

I made an unimpressed noise, not wanting to hear that. I was at a point where I didn't think anything could help me. It'd been over a week since I woke up in the hospital and I realised my life was a shambles. I couldn't see how listening to this man would change that.

"Look, Carlie." He took a step back and placed his hands on his hips. "If you aren't going to put anything into this, you won't get anything out of it. It's as much about mental attitude, which I know isn't always easy, but giving up won't do you any good either. You have to try."

"Oh, well if you need a positive mental attitude then you're really barking up the wrong tree." I shoved a half-shrug in his face "I can't pull that out right now."

"I see. Well then, I don't think the physio will help you."

"Erm..." I wasn't sure what to feel; relieved I didn't have to suffer this nightmare anymore, or gutted he'd given up on me. "So, if I just do nothing then the pain will go away by itself?"

"No, that isn't what I'm saying at all. What I'm suggesting is maybe you need to speak to someone. When people go through traumatic events, such as what you have with the car crash, it can leave some confusing emotions. It might be better to deal with them first before you come back to me."

"You think I need therapy?" My core tightened. "Are you kidding me? I don't need therapy. I know exactly what's wrong with me."

"That may be the case, but your mental attitude is holding your physical progress back. I'm going to write a note to your doctor suggesting as much."

I bit down on my bottom lip to stop the expletives from flying out my mouth. There was no way in hell I'd go and speak to someone about how I felt, that just wasn't me. Especially not now when I was at my lowest ebb, really struggling with the woman I'd woken up in the hospital as. I didn't even want to think about it, never mind discuss it with a stranger.

"Sure, whatever. Can I go now?"

He huffed and shook his head at me, disappointment rolling off him in waves. "Yes, you can go, but you will need to come back so if you can at least try to do some of the exercises I've given you at home, I'd be really grateful."

It was cute he assumed that'd happen. As soon as I got home I'd be straight back into my pit of misery.

"Sure, whatever, goodbye."

***

Why did I move back home? I laid my head back on the couch to stare at the crack in the ceiling. Why did I go backwards when I wanted to move on?

I knew more about my life now, I'd spent some time discovering who I'd become, but I still didn't feel connected to myself. I couldn't work out how I'd gone from who I used to be at twenty-one to now. I might've ended up with a career worthy of my degree but I hated it. It bored me, the journalist rules irritated me, and sucked all the love of writing right out of me.