Dialogue

"Doc, I'm in pain, emotionally and physically. I'm exhausted..." 

She taps her pen against her notepad and her face tilts thoughtfully, "Tell me a bit more. Why are you in pain?" 

"I don't know. Maybe it's the fall, and the injury. Maybe it's a problem from before, l-like depression." I clasp my sweaty hands together in front of me, thumbing my wrist. "There are days, nights, that I feel numb. Like seeing a void before me, and all I want to do is l-let myself-" I pause, gulping down air that often seemed so absent, "Let myself go." 

The scratching noise of the pen across paper invades my ears. I feel a heavy burden crushing my stomach. A coldness sweeps up from my palms and feet, ice stretching out across my arms reaching for my chest. It ties up my tongue and all I want to do is curl into myself, but her voice breaks my thoughts with a single word.

"Why?"

It was a simple question, 'why', but it was the most difficult to answer. I tried anyways, despite the rising urge to puke all over her carpet. I look up, staring at her. My brown eyes straight into her blue ones. Something about that was comforting. It reminded me of what my sister told me, that people with light colored eyes weren't afraid to look you in the eye. Despite the intensity it was like they could see into your soul. I felt like she was looking into mine.

"The void reaches for me, but it's not frightening. It's not a monster." The more I stared into her light eyes, the more it felt like I was starting to gaze into that void again. I couldn't hear the scritches of her pen anymore. I was lost. Dissociating. I couldn't see her anymore, just that light baby blue.

"That darkness isn't hell, but a haven. Falling into the void would be like falling into an embrace. Isolation and a serenity f-from life."

"Do you want to kill yourself?"

I flinched back involuntarily, but my eyes are caught on those baby blues. I didn't want to answer that, like stated at every beginning session, the possibility of hurting others or yourself could land you in an asylum. A lack of freedom frightened me, and a part of me didn't want to acknowledge the idea of leaving my horrible but independent life for a supervised room. 

"No."

 

The hesitation must have given away my lie. She didn't say anything about it though, but her voice was tight, "Fine. Let's move on."

She sighed and closed her eyes for ten seconds (I counted), and it broke the hypnosis those baby blues had over me. 

Before she could continue, I repeated my mantra in my head. Something I always told myself to ease away my anxieties that helped me through every session. Just one simple phrase:

F**k it.

The heavy weight on my stomach rolled off. I didn't feel better, but I could breath a little bit better. Those two words had two meanings for me. F**k it because nothing matters. I could end it and it wouldn't matter. Then, F**k it because nothing matters. There's no point in fearing anything, we are all going to die anyways. Do what you want. 

It was as encouraging as it was detrimental, but those two words were doing more than what she was asking me to do.

What she expected me to do.  

She opened her mouth to continue, but I couldn't hear her anymore. I was dissociating. 

The session ended with very little progress. She said we did a lot though. 

It didn't matter.

F**k it.

I was going to get that blueberry scone and the caramel macchiato I saw down the block earlier this morning.