These strange steps

21

Week 2

Tony looks up from her diary and says, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. I mean-this is it. This is at the heart of what we're dealing with here. You're basically telling me that your problem is that you feel like you're destined to fail."

She stares at him, and tries not to think about Quinn and what that means, but-for fuck's sake, it's therapy. She's supposed to be working on making herself better, not denying more things.

"The idea of being-not good enough actually turns me on," she says, after a moment. It's awkward, and Tony raises his eyebrows at her, and then laughs a little sheepishly.

"Rachel, that's very different. I'll-okay, would you prefer to talk to Joel about this?"

She makes a face. "He's old enough to be my father. I'd prefer not to talk about this at all-"

Tony chuckles and rubs at his eyes. "Okay, that's fine. Well, no, not talking about it is not fine, but-sexual gratification and panic are two very distinct feelings, okay? They might present with similar emotional states but my God, the fact that you like-what, working for it in the sack?"

She blushes furiously. "Being... made to work for it."

"Sure. But the overall goal there is-eventually being good enough, right?"

She nods, after a moment. "Yeah. It's-the pay-off."

"Okay, so ... this is different, because-in bed, I'm assuming that-your partners guide you to that pay-off. You overcome." Tony hesitates, and then raises her journal again. "I'm not seeing overcoming in your life right now, Rachel. You're stuck in this incredibly pessimistic cycle of-I would leave the house, but I'm going to have an attack, and I could try to have dinner with people but I'm just going to have an attack. I mean, what you wrote here-nothing I ever do is good enough to make this stop anyway-if that is what you wake up with, in your head, your day is done before it even starts."

She feels her eyes water a little and then says, "Yeah, so I've noticed."

"But it doesn't have to be like this. Thoughts are-okay, if you think of them like baseballs, flying at your head. ... are you into sports?" he asks, after a second.

She laughs. "No, but ... my best friend is. Puck and I watch them all the time. I know what baseball is."

"Okay, well, what you're currently doing is standing there and literally letting your life just sock you in the face, one after another. Like you're up against some pitcher with an arm that never tires and you're basically sitting down and saying, the only thing that's going to make him miss is this bottle of Xanax here."

She stays silent, and Tony glances at her journal again before putting it down on the table and closing it.

"The thing is, Rachel, you can catch those balls before they actually nail you. It's just a question of rerouting them, so if you well, mentally training your arm to swoop upwards and reach for them before they can impact. Okay?"

She sighs after a moment. "Yeah, okay. I mean, you make it all sound like it's just-a question of flicking a switch, or something, but-"

"No, it isn't. But it's... something we're going to untangle, one step at a time. So-let's start with breakfast, this morning. You felt anxious when you went into the room, and said it was because you thought people would be judging you."

She nods.

"Did they actually judge you?"

She shrugs and makes a face. "I don't know, I didn't stand around taking a survey."