Not This Time

Nina: November 22, 2010

     I looked around the room, nervously. It wasn't necessarily that I was nervous about this appointment. I'd just never been to a therapist before. One wall was painted in a gentle baby blue and the one next to it was a pastel yellow. I was seated in a cushy armchair situated across the room from a buttoned loveseat. The only noise in the waiting room was the faint sound of classical music playing over the radio and the receptionist's keyboard clickety-clacking away.
     The double doors to my right opened slowly and voices could be heard as another young woman started through. I sat up a little straighter. Presumably, I was next. I watched as two women stood in the doorway, talking about their next appointment. The first, a blonde not unlike myself, thanked the other woman and gave me a small smile as she passed on her way to the receptionist counter.
     As the blonde stopped to schedule her next appointment, the other woman looked over at me. "I guess you're Nina," she observed, sort of hanging on her door. I rose and nodded, rubbing my hands up and down the front of my jeans.
     "Yes, hi," I confirmed as I approached. The woman smiled at me and nodded for me to follow her before she disappeared back into her office. When I went after her, the size of the room beyond surprised me. It was a large room painted in similar theme to the other. There was a desk backed against the right wall, a huge window directly across from the door, and a sitting area across from the desk.
     "It's nice isn't it?" the therapist asked from her seat over by the window. I shut my mouth and nodded in embarrassment. She waved her hand dismissively. "Close the door," she said, gazing over at me, "Unless you don't mind Miss Jada out there knowing everything we're talking about." When I turned to close the door, the receptionist threw me a knowing smile and I suddenly was very concerned about what I'd gotten myself into.
     I hurried across the room and looked between the couch against the wall and the armchair opposite it. There was a low coffee table between the two and a taller one between the chair where the therapist sat and the empty one. I looked up to find her watching me with an amused look on her face.
     "You can sit wherever," she mused, "Feel free to lay down on the couch if you think it will help. You can criss-cross applesauce on the table if you really want to, just let me know so we can move the fern."
     I closed my eyes and grimaced at myself. I was not this awkward a person, normally. Finally, I let out an embarrassed sigh and sank onto the corner of the couch farthest from her. She didn't say anything for a solid minute or so, allowing me to collect myself and get over my nerves.
     "You good now?" she snickered once I'd sat back.
     With pursed lips, I offered a slight nod. "I think so," I replied, "I'm sorry, I never really thought I'd ever be in a therapist's office."
     She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, you can't guess how many times I've heard that," she laughed a little as she pulled her long brown hair over her shoulder. "So, I'm Dr. Solano, but please call me Mariana. Or Dr. Mariana, if you must. Would you be alright with me recording our sessions or would you prefer that I just take notes?" she asked, setting one hand on a recording machine on the table next to her and gesturing at the clipboard on the coffee table with the other.
     I shrugged as she watched me expectantly. It really didn't matter to me. "Whichever is easiest for you, I guess. I don't really care."
     With a smile, she hit the record button on the machine. "Whoo," she cheered as she settled back into her chair, "I don't have to write!" She kicked off her slip-on shoes and brought her feet up into her chair like we were about to play truth or dare. For all I knew we might. Then she turned her attention to me again. "Whatcha wanna talk about?"
     This appointment was already going nothing like what I was expecting. I could feel my head shake a little and the words came tumbling out before I even realized that I was saying anything at all, "I've been feeling sort of depressed for a while now."
     "How long is a while," she asked.
     I scrunched up my nose and thought about it. It was ever since I got back from the 80s, but I couldn't tell her that. How long ago was that? My eyes searched the room like I might find the answer somewhere on the walls. It had to have been a few months ago.
     "About four months now," I sighed after a moment of thought.
     Mariana blinked at me, maintaining her little smile otherwise. "Wow, is that normal?"
     "No," I snickered, "That's why I'm here. My friend Penny recommended you."
     "Ah yes." Mariana nodded and reached over to the coffee table. She pulled up the edge of the top paper and peeked under it at something on the next page. "Penny Chrystler. She told me about you, too." She looked up at me again. "All good things. Just that you might be visiting," she explained in a pleased voice as she settled back into her chair, "And here you are."
     I let out a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, here I am." I looked down at my hands in my lap and shrugged. "I have been waking up crying and not really knowing why. Every once in a while I get these anxiety attacks. It kinda like everybody is keeping some big secret from me. Even Penny, which is dumb because she's literally the best friend I've ever had."
     "Well." She looked like she was about to make a pointed statement when she rather abruptly said instead, "Have you seen Hitchhikers's Guide to the Galaxy? Read the book, seen the movie, whatever?" I smirked and nodded. She grinned too. "Well then, in regards to the anxiety, I must quote the good man Slartibartfast, 'That's just perfectly normal paranoia, everyone in the universe gets that.' So just breathe. Don't panic."
     "Always know where your towel is," I mumbled almost instinctively.
     Mariana laughed and nodded. "Exactly!" I smiled a little. This was not going at all how I thought it would. It was good, just not what I was expecting. Mariana hugged her knees and leaned back in her chair. "So let's see if we can figure out why you're depressed. The holidays are coming up," she suggested, "Have you got plans to see your family?"
     I rolled my eyes. "That's enough to give anyone depression."
     "Woah," she chuckled, "That's some serious resentment. What's going on there?"
     How did I know this was going to come back to my mother? I frowned and looked away. I really didn't want to discuss that. Of course, given my awkward silence and lack of eye contact, Mariana was now well aware that something wasn't right with me and my family. The longer I avoided the subject, the more I knew she would want to talk about it.
     "I don't get along with my mother," I grumbled. Before she could say anything, I held out a hand and shook my head. "And no, that's not some Freud thing that we need to explore.."
     Mariana nodded a little. "Do you think is has something to do with your current depression?" she asked. I didn't even have to stop and think before I shook my head again. Penny and I had already explored that option and thinking about my relationship with my mother didn't make me depressed, it made me angry.
     "No, I closed that door a long time ago," I assured her, "I'm pretty certain that she doesn't have anything to do with this. So, if we could just not go there, that would be great."
     I watched her glance over at the machine that was recording our session. Then she nodded again. I took a deep breath, embarrassed that I'd gotten so defensive. I could tell she was watching me, probably waiting for me to collect myself before she went on. I leaned back against the back of the couch and sighed.
     "If you don't think it's relevant, we can discuss it some other time, perhaps," she said gently. It didn't feel like she was going to force me to talk about it, but I also knew that it was literally her job to prompt the tough topics like that. She leaned back in her chair too, and continued, "So you said you wake up crying. What have your dreams been like?"
     I stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember any little detail of any dream I'd had recently. Nothing was coming. That didn't surprise me since dreams were usually pretty elusive during waking hours, but it was annoying anyway.
     "The only thing I can remember is that all my dreams over the last few months have seemed alike," I told her, still staring at nothing and trying to remember.
     "Alike?"
     I looked back at her. "Like they're all set in the same place. With the same people. They weren't always the same things happening, but it was always similar setting.."
     "Where were they set, do you remember?" she asked.
     I had to think for a second. My gaze searched the floor, but I wasn't seeing it; I was searching my brain for any hint about what I'd been dreaming. A city. Big crowds. A number on a door. I couldn't tell what I was remembering from my time in the 80s and what I was remembering from a dream.
     "I think..." I started, unsure, "I think a lot of it happens in hotel rooms."
     "Okay, that's different," Mariana noted aloud, "Any idea what happens?"
     I shook my head. "No, most of my dreams are escaping me. The only time I usually remember them is right after I wake up. And even then, they start fading pretty quick."
     "As dreams do."
     "Yeah," I mumbled, nodding a little. Mariana waited patiently for me to complete my thought. I don't know how she didn't know I was done, but I guess she'd had the practice. I could feel my face scrunch a little in confusion as I thought about it. "I just don't understand why I would be crying," I said, "I don't feel sad when I wake up. There's just tears. It's not like I'm upset or afraid. They're just there. Kinda dried, too, like they've been sitting there a minute." I looked up at her, then, to hear her response.
     Her brow furrowed too. "Huh, odd," was all she said for a moment. She looked like she was thinking about it. She pursed her lips and wiggled her nose a little, like Samantha from Bewitched. When she blinked and brought her attention to me, she asked, "Are these dreams lucid?"
     "What does that mean?"
     "It basically means that you know you're in a dream. You know that what's happening to you or around you is not reality," she explained.
     "Oh, no," I said, "No, I don't think it's that. I mean, it's hard to say without being in the experience now..."
     "Yeah, understandably." she interjected. "...but I don't think so," I finished absently.
     Mariana nodded slowly. "Alright..." she muttered. I kept my mouth shut so that she could have a chance to think. Slowly, her nodding got a little quicker. "Okay.. So," she paused again and unfolded her legs with a single, quick clap of her hands. "Here's what I'm gonna have you do. I want you to keep a journal," she instructed, "When you wake up, write every little detail you can remember about your dream. Anything that stands out to you, even if it's something stupid like the color of the carpet, okay?"
     "Okay..what's that going to do?" I asked.
     She made a circular motion in the air, talking with her hands as she explained, "Keeping track will help you identify patterns and as you keep doing this, you'll be able to remember more. And we'll have more to discuss."
     "Oh, okay." I shrugged, nodding for a moment. "Yeah, I can do that."     Mariana gave me a gorgeous smile and nodded as well. "Alright, sounds like a plan!" she declared with a cheery tone. She spat out another short "so" before folding legs back up in her chair and getting comfortable once again. "What else you wanna talk about?"