Her Story

Chapter Two: The Therapist

Her Story

Chapter Two: The Therapist

                                                             Continued:     January 16th, 2014

    I have never felt more awkward than right now as I was being scrutinized by this so called- therapist.

    They say you’ll experience multiple awkward and embarrassing moments in life, well, I believe this tops every one of them so-called- moments.

    “Ella.” He breathed, standing up from behind his desk and maneuvering around it to stand in front of me. I took a step back, feeling he was too close.

    Being in my kind of situation, I had no idea what to do, let alone what to say. It’s not like I wanted this, it’s not like I knew this would be happening until just moments ago.

    He held his hand out, “I’m Dr. Noah Bowen.” I stared at his hand. He took notice that I wasn’t going to shake it, so he let it swing down as he rubbed his palm on his pants.

    “Please, sit.” He cleared his throat as he moved back and referred to the slanted-back, dark brown, and leather couch.

    I slowly, but surely took a seat, fiddling with my thumbs as I could feel his eyes boring through me, studying me, judging me. I let my hair fall in front of my face as I heard him shut the door. I tried to contain my breathing, fore this is the only time I have been left alone in a closed-off room with a guy in a very long time, and I don’t know if I can handle it; even if he is my therapist.

    “I spoke to your parents, their deeply concerned about you, a-about your well being.” I heard shuffling and peeked through my hair as he moved to a small table in the corner with a coffee pot sat atop.

    Sighing at how ridiculous shy and weird I was being, I pulled my hair back, letting it fall against my neck and down to the middle of my back.

    He’s not going to hurt you, Ella; he’s paid to help you. Get a grip.

    “Would you like some tea, some coffee?” I looked up to see him holding two tea cups. I nodded.

    “Tea, please.”

    He smiled as he walked over and gave me one of the cups before sitting down himself in the round chair in front of me.

    Silence passed between us, all that was heard was his breathing and my nails clicking together. I didn’t know how to start a conversation, I mean, he was the therapist, he should be the one to start it up, to ask me what I don’t want to discuss, to make me remember what had happened to me back in September.

    The nightmares, the memories, the flashbacks, the voice and the pain I can feel as if it was just happening to me now, was to much to bear. I could barely think about it without wanting to kill myself, let alone talk about it. Talking about it, would make it real. Talking about it, may push me over the edge, and I don’t know how much more reality of the situation, that I could take.

    “So, Ella, tell me a bit about you, about yourself.” I startled, lost in my thought.  My eyes met his and I instantly looked down.

    “T-there’s nothing really...” I murmured.

    “Ahh, now come on. What do you like to do for fun, what’s your favorite move, what genres do you like to read?”

    “Well.” Breathe Ella, just breathe. Open up, it may help, who knows. “I like reading romance, sometimes horror. I haven’t read much in a-awhile, but I used to love reading, as much as I liked to go to gym—” Deep breath, Ella, deep breath. “—Gymnastics. I was in it since I was three; and... and my favorite movie was Hairspray.” I shakily chuckled. He smiled big at my response, probably thinking I’d just utter a sentence ad end it there.

    “That’s nice.” His grin faltered as he took deep breath, glancing at the clock. His face turned serious and I inched back. “Ella, do you remember anything from that unfaithful night on September 29th, on your birthday?” My eyes slightly widened as memories flashed back to me, making me close my eyes tightly. I nervously nodded.

    “Can you tell me about it? What were you feeling before that happened?”

    He took my silence as my answer. “You don’t have to answer anything that’s uncomfortable for you, this process will take time. Healing will take time.”

    I let my head bob down in shame.

    “I’m here to help you, Ella. I’m here to make sure that this, what happened to you, won’t scar you.” His voice was deep as I heard paper ruffling.

    “Can you tell me about how you felt after, maybe back in December... it had been a few months, did you feel any better, any safer, or just the same as that night it happened?”

    Tears had already welled up in my eyes, just thinking about what I felt. I took a deep breath before chuckling bitterly and wiping under my eyes.

    “I felt disgusted. Self-disgust to be more precise.” One tear fell. Don’t cry, you haven’t cried in a while, don’t start now. Feeling ashamed, I calmed myself before answering further, “I was in shock. I got depressed; I refused to eat, to sleep because the nightmares haunted me, I refused to talk to my friends, my family.” Breathe in, breathe out. “Hell, I refused to move an inch from my bed, even to shower. I would hold my bladder until eventually it became painful. I was already in so much pain, that I was numb, my bladder pain couldn’t hold a candle to the pain I was already feeling, even if eventually, my urine had turned to blood from holding it, days on end”

    When I looked up, Dr. Bowen’s eyes were slightly wide, and I could see him visibly gulp as his Adams apple bobbed.

    I could almost laugh at his horror-stricken face. Silence passed us and I knew he had no way to respond.

    “Uhm... Ella, you should’ve come to me way before—” he coughed, “—way before you started to get and feel this way.” He said gently.

    “Why? Therapy isn’t going to help me.” I shrugged, lying back with my arms crossed.

    “Therapy helps a lot of people, Ella. Therapy is good for you. You need someone to talk to, and what best is there, than to talk to a stranger?” He asked, rhetorically.

    “Everything.” I answered anyway. “That stranger, who doesn’t know or understand what you’ve been through, judges you.” I said coldly.

    “I’m a professional, as is all therapist, psychiatrist, etc; we know what we’re doing, which is trying to help our patients. You just need to be patient... Time will heal you, all your pain, everything; and I am going to be there to help as well.” He said, leaning forward with confidence in his voice.

    “Yeah, okay.” I rolled my eyes sarcastically with a scoff. “Nothing’s going to help the way I feel inside. Nothing.” I stared him dead in the eye. I was done wallowing in self-pity, I was done. I need and have to confront the truth, even if it will tear me apart, even if it is brutal. It’s been four months, four long and hard months. Nothing will help me, nothing or no one, because no one can change the way I feel about myself, all the self-hate the disgust... no one can change that. Sure, I can fake a smile every now and again, but I was done letting people think I’m broken, even when I am.

    So, I will tell my tragic story to this, so-called, therapist, even if it kills me in the end.