High, Low. Cry, Know

I went over and sat down in the now all-too-familiar chair. She shut the door behind her, and I knew that for the next sixty minutes, things would be weird. “So how’s things?” she asked matter-of-factly. “How are you?” “Ah, I’m all right, I guess.” I thought, If only she knew. “You still using coke?” she enquired, always smiling. Deirdre was a good and kind soul. I genuinely liked her a lot. She was friendly and warm, and I really needed this time and space after everything that had happened. After witnessing the plummet into despair and hopelessness that my life had become, there was no choice now but to deal with the mess I had become. That’s why I was there. “No,” I lied, “I’m not.” I couldn’t tell her the truth. I didn’t want to disappoint her. Didn’t want to get into that today. I still needed my crutch, for it was all I seemed to possess in the world in those days. Close friends had long since deserted me, on top of losing her – the one good thing, the only thing of real worth it seemed I had in life. “Good,” she replied. I didn’t know whether she believed me or not. Perhaps she didn’t, but she never let it show. “Are you getting exercise?” she enquired further. “Yeah, I’m running like a demon. Six days last week, an hour each day.” “Excellent,” she said. “So what’s new? What’s been happening since we last spoke?” “Ah, not a whole lot, to be honest. The usual.” Deirdre knew well the familiar pattern I had engaged in from week to week. “You been sleeping?” she asked. “Some.” “Writing?” “Nah, nothing.” “OK.” She never stopped smiling. In fairness, her friendly smile always brought me great comfort. It helped me dissolve the discomfort I felt on being there in the first place. I knew I needed to be there, but I didn’t want to be. Yet I knew I couldn’t continue on the self-destructive path I’d been on for so long. I’d grown tired of what I’d become. I wondered where I’d end up if I didn’t regain some semblance of control over my life. “So talk to me. What’s on your mind?” “You know, every time I come here, from the moment I get up in the morning, I wonder what I will say to you,” I said. “I get into the car and drive to work and think about it. When I depart the office, I think with better concentration, my thoughts rarely changing to anything else. The drive to the hospital, the walk from the car park to reception, the wait in the leather chair outside … While I sit in that chair and wait, I wonder what I want to talk about. I always wonder that. It’s not that I want to make shit up, but I feel as if I’m trapped in an absurd life that has fuck all meaning to me … or anyone, for that matter. There are days I kind of hate myself, can’t stand the image staring back at me in the mirror. I want to pick my eyes out and end all this misery. Then I smoke a joint and forget everything.” “Ah. I thought you weren’t doing drugs, Jack.” “I’m not. Not hard ones, anyway. But I do enjoy a joint. I mean, it’s all the company I seem to have these days, Deirdre.” This was another lie. Two weeks before today, I had allowed fear and my demons to take control again and gotten completely off my face on cocaine. And I’m talking off my face, beautifully numbed to life and the never-ending cycle of pain I self-inflicted. I was adept at sabotaging my happiness. However, I didn’t mention this to her, couldn’t get into all that right now. I didn’t want to let her down. I know it’s probably not right, but I did it, and that’s that. I had never spoken to anyone about my innermost thoughts and worries, and I needed this time with her. But I also knew that it would take some time for me to open up and trust her completely, for I wasn’t a person easily given to trusting others. My past had destroyed any ability in me to trust. I tried to hide the lies on my face, and I’m not sure if I succeeded, but as always, Deirdre continued on smiling sympathetically. I’m sure she understood how hard all this was for me, and we both knew, although it was never spoken, that simply being there in the first place meant progress. Substantial progress. Yes, there was a ways to go, and I knew it. I think we both did. But by finally talking to a professional after all those years of trying to cope with my diseased mind on my own, I was finally admitting I needed outside help. This was massive for me. “OK,” she responded, scribbling in her journal. “I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s driving me fucking crazy. Every goddamned day.” “Yeah, but she doesn’t want to know, and can you blame her, really?” Deirdre said. “You need to start accepting that, Jack.” She was right, of course. I knew this. Didn’t want or need to be told, but still I couldn’t help myself, riddled with guilt for what I had done and the careless way I had treated her. I wondered about my abuser and if he’d still do what he did to me all those years back if he’d known the destruction he helped cause in my life. I suspect that thoughts of all the carnage he wrought in my life never troubled him. As a matter of fact, I’d put my house on it.