Okay, so I know I said that I was going to stop writing for now, but I got bored, and I felt like taking my own notes.
"I see you brought your own notebook, do you journal?" Dr. Lorton asks me.
"I haven't done it since I was 15, I just started doing it again a few days ago." I say.
"15, that's awfully specific. Did you journal regularly back then?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"Yes." I say shortly.
"Why did you stop?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"It's a long story." I say.
"That's what I'm here for." Dr. Lorton says calmly, and I think about that for a minute. I've kept this story completely to myself except for 2 people, both now dead, for 12 years, but where has that gotten me? I'm in a hospital room with a cast on my wrist, talking to a therapist. So I decided to tell her.
"You promise you can't tell anyone?" I ask, knowing it's a ridiculous question considering I'm a psychologist myself.
"I promise." Dr. Lorton says, and I sigh.
"It was my mum." I say, barely audible, and Dr. Lorton nods, encouraging me to continue. "I had been writing in journals since my father died when I was 8, my mum never knew."
"Why didn't you tell her?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"She wouldn't understand. When I was 15 I was home alone, writing in my journal. I was concentrating so hard that I didn't notice my mum come into my room.-"
"What are you doing?" My mother asked angrily, startling me. "I said, what. Are. You. Doing."
"Nothing." I lie, and she rips the journal out of my hands and opens it.
"It's a journal! Your writing in a stupid journal, you schlemiel!" She shouted, and I flinched. "Are there others?"
"No." I lie.
"Don't lie to me boy, where are they?" I was too afraid to do anything but comply, so I pulled out the box of journals from under my bed. She picked up the box, and started walking.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"We're getting rid of these." She said.
"No!" I shouted.
"Did I say you had a choice? You are my son and you will do as I say." She commanded, and I had no choice but to follow her down the stairs. She set the box in the fireplace and set it on fire. "That should teach you to be a man, now go up to your room and think about what you've done." I nod and go upstairs. I curl up into a ball on my bed and cried.
"-My stepfather found me there and told Tess." I say.
"Who's Tess?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"He is- was, my best friend and step-brother. He died a few days ago." I say.
"Do you think that's why you've been thinking about that?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"Maybe, a lot of things happened this week." I say.
"And you're overwhelmed?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"Yes." I say.
"Well, that's completely normal, especially for someone with asperger's syndrome, so I'm going to send you home with this thought. You're living with your mother, right?" Dr. Lorton asks.
"Yes." I say.
"You need to get out of that house if your ever going to heal from what she did. Just think about that. It was nice to meet you Mr. Feldman." Dr. Lorton says.
"It was nice to meet you too." I say, and she leaves me with a lot to think about.
YOU ARE READING
The Five Stages of Grieving: A Journal by Daniel Jacob Feldman
Ficción General"I didn't sleep at all last night. Why? Today has been the worst day of my life. Today... My best friend, Tesla Jefferson Lewis... died." Join me on a journey into the mind of Daniel J. Feldman, a British grief counselor who has just lost his lifelo...
