Therapy Session - Breakthrough

Thanks to Yos - again - for coming up with this. This is very rough but I need to write. I think you'll figure out why.

A month ago.

 

The meeting was held in the large conference room and was only half filled with people. The lights were only half on. We sat separate from each other by table-lengths, uncertain of each other, not yet friends. But each of us were here for a common reason, a letter that had been sent in the mail, thick with courtship and formality, gold embossed letters, a coat of arms.

 

I had received one as well.

 

I hadn't worked to get into Phi Theta Kappa, the Honor's Society for two-year colleges. I had gone to classes and studied, getting poor grades was never an option. All I have is my mind, to rely on beauty is foolish in the opinion of my family, the mind is all. Yet, I was shocked to find I'd been invited to join and to learn that I was something special. That not everyone maintained a 3.5 grade point average, or higher, was inconceivable.

 

The president of the Honor's Society stood and spoke, congratulating us on our commitment to academic achievement. This was new to me. A's were expected, B's tolerated, anything below was unnacceptable. It wasn't so much a commitment as an assumption. He told us of the benefits of joining the Honor's Society, the requirements, the prestige.

 

Then, he told us of the induction ceremony.

 

"Your friends and family will love to be there," he said, so confidently. "This is a proud moment for all of you."

 

How little he knew me or my family.

 

***

 

I was in middle school. Seventh grade, or eighth, I can't remember. I remember Mr. Graham Howard, the intimidatingly tall and British theater teacher was my teacher that year. I remember that the campus had moved to Seminole, thirty miles away from my home, and it was an hour bus ride at six in the morning to get there. I remember that Noriko, our Japanese foreign exchanged student, was leaving the next morning to go home, that the Sayonara party was scheduled the same day as my performance.

 

That my parents had prior obligations to the twenty foreign exchange students we were hosting and couldn't make it to the performance, in which I was only a light manager not an actual performer, was fine with me. During the course of my five year stint as a theater major, I would have other performances and it wasn't necessary that they came to each one. Especially it wasn't important that they were in the audience of a performance in which I was only running a spotlight from a dark booth.

 

The performance was over. A number of the girls went out to watch a movie together. The middle school equivalent to getting drunk and laid after a performace which would become the norm in high school. I wasn't popular, I wasn't invited, I didn't have any money anyway. Besides, someone was coming to pick me up.

 

They all left. A few cars remained in the parking lot and I waited, reading a book under the lamplight. It was night. It was late. I was getting tired. The cars left one by one and the sidewalk was getting cold underneath me, the darkness more still. I waited, patient, reading.

 

After a while, the straggling parents, who had been talking to Mr. Howard, came out of the building and spotted me. Mr. Howard came over to me to talk to me gently.

 

"Where's your ride?"

 

I shrugged.

 

"I don't know. My parents are at a party. I suppose they forgot about me."

 

I didn't look at the face looking at me. I was too ashamed. Further away I could hear the parents talking about me, about my parents.

 

"Do you have a phone number I can call?"

 

"I don't know the number they're at," I said.

 

I waited. He waited. The other parents waited to catch a glimpse of the negligent parents who'd leave their daughter sitting at school until midnight. They finally showed up. No apology.

 

***

 

The ride home from the meeting was comforting. I could smell cooking smells coming from the houses, see parents wrestle with their kids to get them to eat vegetables or turn off the TV. Normal household tableaus.

 

My parents wouldn't go to the induction ceremony. I knew that. When I'd told them about the letter they had no idea what Phi Theta Kappa was, insisting that it was a sorority. They wouldn't want to be there and my mother would be uncomfortable and my father would crack jokes and trivialize everything. He would trivialize me.

 

I couldn't handle it.

 

But then, the rational, hopeful part of my mind said, if I don't even give them the chance then you'll never know. Give them the benefit of the doubt.

 

I waited until after I helped my husband walk the dog. I ran it by him. He agreed with my rational, hopeful self. "This is an Honor Society. They'll be proud of you."

 

"Do you think ... no. It's stupid."

 

"What?"

 

"Do you think your parents will want to go?" I asked, shyly. Eleven years together and I still am afraid that I'm not a part of Donnie's family.

 

"Of course."

 

I beamed and felt a lightness that hadn't been there before. A lightness of something, of hope maybe, or just the absence of pain. I don't know. Buoyed, I told my parents about it.

 

I got a sneer from my mother.

 

"Do you know all the things we have planned that day?" she asked. "Why do you want to join that sorority anyway?"

 

***

 

I was so upset I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I couldn't think. I needed to get out. So, I did. I needed to walk. Why was I waiting at the light? I could go. I stepped out into traffic. The oncoming car barely missed me. The angry, terrified honking startled me back into reality.

 

I walked home.

 

It was high school. I had spent three years in the theater department in middle school, two in high school. But, now it was over. My depression had spiraled out of control and it had affected my grades, sending them plummeting. Still, my parents said it was just teenage angst. Because my grades were so poor, I was being kicked out of the program for the arts. I was getting kicked out of school.

 

To allow me one more year all my parents had to do was write a letter asking to allow me to stay. The counselor explained to my father that it happened all the time, nothing to be concerned about, it was just my math that needed tweaking. "You're a math teacher," Mr. Clarke said to my father, "she just needs some tutoring."

 

My father refused. He smiled pleasantly at Mr. Clarke, laughed. "If I write a letter saying that she'll improve and she doesn't then I look bad. I'm not willing to risk that."

 

Mr. Clarke opened his mouth, his eyes wide with incredulity. "But, it's a rubber stamp. Every parent does it."

 

We left. I walked home.

 

***

 

"When is it again?" my mother asked.

 

"What?"

 

"Your thing."

 

"6 PM, Saturday."

 

She sighed.

 

"Fine."

 

"Are you going then?"

 

"Yes."

 

***

 

It was cool, windy. I sat in front of Sean's house waiting for Ben Magner to come out. I sat. I waited. He didn't come out. I waited in full view of the house for a half an hour. Then gave up.

 

Had he forgotten our date? Had he simply not seen me? Or ...

I didn't want to finish the thought. I walked home, blurry with checked tears, my jaw hurting gritting my teeth.

 

My mother looked up when I walked in.

 

"He stood you up."

 

"No," I mumbled, too embarrassed. My first date and I was stood up. I went to my room. The tears choked me.

 

***

 

My husband's father lay in the too small hospital bed grumbling. He didn't want to be there but his wife, a nurse, had insisted on him getting the cough checked out.

 

"A cough, and now I've been here for three days," he said. "They still don't know what it is. I'll tell you what it is. I'm old and I was a smoker."

 

Donnie brings up the subject of my induction ceremony. Eleven years together and I still duck my eyes when anything about my accomplishments is mentioned. I don't feel like I've accomplished anything worthwhile.

 

"Of course we'll be there. Just remind us. That may be a work week."

 

***

 

I bought a dress and shoes and my mother helped. While I tried on clothes and shoes she talked about my younger sister. The successful one. Two years younger than me, already with an AA degree, a house, a husband (I'm married, too, Mom). Isn't it wonderful?

 

I don't really want to hear it but I smile and I nod and I buy her lunch even though my husband's been out of work for a year and I have no money. I feel guilty that I'm living at home and I can't pay rent. I pay for her lunch. I pay for my dress and the heels that I'll wear to the induction ceremony.

 

***

 

"I won an award for my writing," I said, momentarily, fleetingly, happy.

 

"Really? That's great!" my husband says. "Are you going to send it out to a publisher?"

 

I come back to reality. Ashamed, I shook my head.

 

"No. It's not good enough. I was the only one to enter the contest," I said. I ignored his praise. My work isn't good enough, not nearly.

 

***

 

I breathed out and handed the professor the money. $110 was a lot of money. $100 for the membership dues for Phi Theta Kappa, $10 for the tickets for five people. I smiled. Five people were coming to my induction ceremony. My parents, my in-laws, and of course my husband.

 

***

 

My first boyfriend was Ryan McBride. Tall, handsome, obnoxious. My girlfriend's ex-boyfriend. He asked me out. We went out three times. We never saw each other again.

 

I hadn't made Krystal jealous enough to get back with him.

 

***

 

"We had two tickets to the ballet on Saturday," my father said the Friday before my ceremony. "But I bought one more for Marie."

 

"That's nice. She'll like it." My neice likes the ballet. Her mother, my sister was a dancer. My father's best friend in high school was a danseur and bought her her first pair of Capezios.

 

"It should be cool."

 

Why was he telling me this?

 

***

 

I turned from my husband in disgust. He's fat, the outsides of his lips are raw from where he does his lizard-like tongue flick, he farts a lot, he has IBS. He's a loser. I married a f**k-up. Everything about him is wrong.

 

No.

 

He just doesn't want me. He hasn't had sex with me in two weeks. No, three. Three weeks. We're newlyweds. We should be having sex every day. Three weeks.

 

I got up. I ate another donut from the box. I've gained thirty pounds since we got married. I'll gain forty more.

 

***

 

I turned off the movie. I'd kept it for a day longer so that my mother could watch it. She turns to me, shyly.

 

"We're going to the ballet tomorrow," she said.

 

"I know." I know what she's about to say. I don't want to hear it. "Dad told me."

 

"We already had the tickets," she said.

 

I got up and left the room.

 

***

 

"You have the choice, you can walk, or we can have a party celebrating both you and Alex graduating," my mother said. Alex, my sister's boyfriend, shrugged.

 

"I don't want to walk," he said.

 

I did. I wanted to walk because I was the first one in my family this generation to graduated high school. My older sister had dropped in ninth grade. I wanted to be proud.

 

"I don't either," I said.

 

***

 

"My parents aren't coming," I said. I thought I was okay with it until the morning of the ceremony. Then, I broke down and cried. My husband held me, rocked me back and forth.

 

"My parents are still coming. I'm still coming. That's all you need."

 

***

 

My father barely touched me as I walked down the aisle with him. The man that would be my husband stood at the other end smiling.

 

"Give her a kiss," said the photographer, motioning towards us. I looked at my father and we smiled awkwardly. A quick peck, the flash went off, we separated. I felt squeamish.

 

***

 

I broke down in the shower as I was shaving and started crying. I didn't want them to hear but I couldn't stop. A ballet! They were going to a ballet instead of my induction ceremony. And they hadn't even told me. They knew a month ago, when I told them about the ceremony, that they had tickets but they'd allowed me to pay their way, they'd allowed me to think, to hope.

 

"Stop it. Stop it. Get over it."

 

I washed my face and stepped out of the shower.

 

"Are you okay?" my mother asked.

 

"Fine."

 

"No, you're not."

 

I wanted to cry again but I got angry instead. I slammed the door.

 

***

 

Roderick was drunk. I was drunk. We lay together on Lara's couch and were drunk together. She should have been watching us. She should have been paying closer attention. Roderick had just broken up with his girlfriend, I was trapped in a sexless relationship with my husband. We were drunk.

 

It was just a kiss.

 

I nearly got a divorce because of one kiss. Donnie threw me out and I went to stay with my parents for three days. My marriage was over because I needed someone to think I was sexy, to think about me, to look at me, to touch me.

 

Donnie took me back. I wonder why.

 

***

Donnie was on the phone as I got ready. I'd washed my face again. Make up applied, hair done, pearls on, heels, little black dress, deoderant, lotion. He was frowning.

 

"It starts at 6. Right. Well, make it when you can. No. I understand. It's okay. All right. See you Monday, then."

 

I looked up when he hung up and before he could say a word I said, "they're not coming."

 

"No."

 

***

 

"There's nothing more we can do, sorry," the counsellor said. I left, dejected. When we got home, I'd have to cancel all my classes, pushing back my graduation another semester because of lack of funding.

 

"I don't understand it," I said. "I make $800 a month. That's all we make. We're living in a roach infested house with my parents and we can't get student aide?"

 

Donnie shook his head.

 

"I don't know."

 

"Well, you can't always get what you want," my mother said when I told her. "Your sister got her house."

 

***

 

"Weiss, Kimberly," I said to the woman behind the table. She smiled and started counting out six programs.

 

"No. I'll only be needing two of those," I said.

 

She looked up. A frown crossed her face. Then, understanding. Then, what I fear the most, pity. She handed me a third.

 

"Here, take it home with you and they can see what they missed."

 

***

 

"I wrote 50,000 words in thirty days," I said.

 

"Were any of them good?" my father asked.

 

***

 

I stood back stage waiting. I remember standing back stage when I was younger waiting in the dark to emerge into the light, blinking into the floodlights to see if I could spot my parents among the faces.

 

My name was called. I breathed out, raised my head high, and stepped onto the stage to sign my name into the roster of new inductees into Phi Theta Kappa. I looked out into the audience, scanning hopelessly for my family.

 

Donnie smiled back at me from his seat. And I smiled at him. I finished signing with a flourish and received my white rose. White for purity.

 

***

 

Perhaps it isn't my parents' fault. My mother's self-confidence was shattered by her mother, my father's by his father. So, perhaps they simply don't know that they shatter mine, perhaps it's just so engrained they don't realize that what they've done hurts me.

 

The epiphany today was that it has been this trivialization of my accomplishments that has shattered my confidence and made me come to see myself as unworthy of success, of love, and of praise. Nothing I've ever accomplished was ever met with praise. Nothing I've ever received was ever worth anything. And in a family where the words 'I love you' were never uttered I went searching for love desperately only to reject it when it came in the form of my husband. If I wanted it, it wasn't worthy, and so my husband was found unworthy in my eyes.

 

There is a theory that a person's personal relationships (with family, friends, and lovers) are connected to their spiritual development. The better these human relationships the better the one with a deity. Is this the reason I became an atheist? Is this the reason I search so desperatley for meaning in my life? Because I'm searching for that part of me that will evoke love and praise from my distant and oblivious parents?

 

 

As painful as today was, I am grateful for it in a way. Without the rejection I wouldn't have understood this connection between my parents' trivialization of all my accomplishments and my desperate need for romantic love and my vain attempts to find meaning in life. Both have been undermined by my severe lack of self-esteem. Where I find love I only see flaws. Where I find meaning I only see trivialities. I can't see the worth in what I do because I can only see myself as worthless.

 

Now, that I can see more clearly, maybe I can move passed this phase in my life in which I've been trapped. At 27, maybe I'll be able to move on with my life.

 

 

Kimberly Weiss

St Petersburg, Fl

23 October 2010

Author's Note

This is very rough, I know. I'm writing this raw.

Reviews

[My Fair Lady]

This is beautiful... please don't edit it. It is raw and wonderful just as it is. I so want to be your friend.

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

WOW!! I am speechless.. I really am , this was the most honest REAL writing I read for long time , maybe ever.... I am proud of you , you are so brave o take it all out, hopefully this brought some relief ... I love that there are so many short memories , its very interesting , yes right like in a real Therapy when thoughts jump into your head and you just shoot.... Love it.... I want to do something , maybe you will like it , but I want to write your Therapist questions following each stanza , maybe you will want to continue this after my questions , please let me know if you like me it , I will understand if you will not ... as this is very personal :) ... thank you for your wonderful writing ... Yossi