Chapter: “The Here and Now”
Inner Child
By Natalie Rodriguez
Copyright © 2017 by Natalie Rodriguez
The Here and Now
I close my composition book, but my hands continue to shake; even though sitting on top of them does nothing.
“It was only a nightmare, Cassie,” she reassures me for the millionth time. Sitting across from me is Dr. Reid…my therapist.
“I know. That’s when I woke up…”
More note taking on her end. I hate watching that thing—the pen moving its dumbass to the left and right, mocking my every move. Marking my every word.
“I want you to remember, Cassie, that the focus of trauma work is not necessarily the details, but
your thoughts and feelings towards it. Your present day self-looking back at your past self through a different lens.”
Jesus Christ! Like I don’t already KNOW THAT!
My hands start gripping onto the couch.
“What you had earlier was a night terror.”
Shut. Up.
“It’s very common. Even people without a history of—”
“Yeah, I know,” I blurt out, surprised myself for even…speaking up.
My eyes must be wider than an antler’s. If that even makes any sense. None of this makes any sense…at least to me.
“Cassie?” My eyes return to Reid. “You sure?”
I take a moment but my jaw won’t disengage. Not the falling apart sort of thing, but the fact that my tongue feels ten times heavier, like my teeth are sinking into an apricot or lemon. I don’t know which one is worst—guess neither, if compared to my…my…background.
“Cassie?”
“I still feel this need, Dr. Reid. You know…go into details of it. All of it.” I watch her scribble scrabble onto the notepad. That pen mocks my eyes—left to right, right to left. That stupid little red pen. I…I fuckin’ HATE IT. “You know,” it just rolls off my tongue. “I slept perfectly fine before coming here...”
Oh, now you look up at me. That holds your attention.
But I keep going. “If I choose to be publicly open of my past, then maybe I’ll heal faster. Move on with my life—”
No, no! Why are her eyes watery? STOP worrying about ME!
“Which you’ve been doing, Cassie,” she says and sets down her little red pen. Reid leans forward and I catch a whiff of her perfume—strong, but not the old lady kind or too flowery. “You’re still pursuing your goals. You’ve already made the hardest choice by distancing yourself from certain relatives. Your aunt. Your cousin. It’s been three years since your father’s—”
My heart skips a beat. That tightness…it contracts the pain in my chest, stinging up my eyes with water. Not tears. I…I don’t know what to call it exactly.
“Cassie?”
“What if it was always unavoidable? Someone else could’ve done it to me still.”
And Reid takes a moment to watch— me…gripping nice and hard onto the couch. Fuck. I can’t relax ever when it comes to this shit. Whenever it comes to my…my…
“I don’t get why I have to come here. I’m not the addict. The liar. Manipulator. Low life. Loser!” It just pours out. No filter. Sorry, kids. “You know how embarrassing it is to ask mommie dearest for twenty bucks for our weekly sessions because I can’t find a stupid job! That’s all the help I’ll ever get from her—money. She expects someone like you to wave your magic wand and just cure me from the drama that I only bring upon myself. They should be the ones in here. Not me! I didn’t do anything wrong!”
I nearly concave into the black leather couch, hoping to be swallowed up as whole; or chewed up, whichever is the quickest way out of this hell hole.
“You think that you’re suffering,” she says with a straight face.
Uh…
“Yes!”
“You’re upset.”
Seriously, what is up with the resting bitch face? My body yanks me up, straighter than an arrow. I just stare deep into her eyes—those tearful eyes. Stop…crying!
“And why wouldn’t I be?! You know, I hate coming here. And I even HATE...”
My eyes enlarge to the width of my oval shaped head. Fuck…why am I such a goddamn asshole? Dr. Reid bobs her head, because that is what they all do right—agree with us or agree to disagree. I wonder if therapists wish to bitch slap their patients? I deserve it…
I deserved it.
“I know,” she says and finally meets my gaze. “You hate me too. Because I’m the one who’s making you think, which only rushes back the memories.”
Yeah…
“Cassie…” She glances away for a moment and sniffles. Oh, my God…now she is really in tears, the kind that no one is to ever see. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were only a child. You didn’t know any better.”
I know, Dr. Reid but…but…
“Cassie,” she picks up and leans to the tip of her own black leather chair. “If I were to remove you from the toxic and dysfunction when you were a child and place you into a safer environment that you are in today, you’d still have the same reactions. Loss. Regret. Fear.”
Fear.
I can no longer hold back. “I hate them.” My God, I am exhausted and the strain on my voice is a starter. “My life is nothing but a cliché. They’ve only dealt with life by drinking, drugs...violence—”
“Cassie—”
“What if I repeat history!”
Reid already knows that has never been a question, but a cold hard fact. She grabs a tissue and passes it over to me. I had not noticed—guess the teardrops on the couch is a giveaway of my breakdown in today’s session. Reid rises and makes her way over. She kneels in front of me; her warm hands grab my cold fingers. I squeeze back, but I can’t manage to look her in the eye. I am still a slobbery hot, sticky, and red mess.
“Nobody’s future is destined to be doomed, Cassie. We have the choice and you’ve done something that many people are too afraid to do: focusing on yourself. You put yourself first. That takes a lot of courage.”
I hiccup a sob back, but the tears won’t stop at all. Reid joins me on the couch and lets out a sigh of exhaustion. She too has a slight strain in her upbeat voice. “You’re not your family. You’re not your father. You’ve never been or ever will become them, Cassie. You’re working through your trauma. You’re doing the best you can.”
I can’t look at her. My eyes hurt too much.
“Alright,” she says with a sigh of disappointment [figures], “we’ll stop there. In the meantime, keep journaling. I want you to explore how certain events, people or even the dreams make you feel, rather than explaining details. Details could be a possibility in the future. But, to go into details when the stressors are already so high, could sometimes retrigger the trauma itself for a survivor.”
Survivor; there’s that word again…
“You’re going to give me something, aren’t you?” Now, my eyes level up to her.
Reid’s look says enough, especially when she retrieves to her chair and reaches for something underneath her desk from a black mini suitcase (I think it’s a suitcase; it’s one of those carry-ons, but the pleather kind). My heart winces as soon as Reid starts writing something down onto a piece of paper.”
Fuck.
“I’m giving you the number of my colleague, who specializes in it [it, as in pills]. Like I said, I don’t believe in—
Medicine? Yeah, sure…
She lowers her arm with the stupid little slip of paper, as I stare back at her.
“Just think of this as a backup plan,” she reassures me with that soft tone of hers; I mean, it does help…a lot actually because my mind is distracted, which is good—
Cassie.
Fuck!
I glance over my shoulder, but see nothing except the less valuable objects, from the wall to the small kid’s table in the corner that has board games and scattered coloring books everywhere. I no longer hear the voice, but for some reason…I can just feel it…crawling from underneath my skin. I shiver and hug myself to protect my soul with warmth.
“…incase you have trouble falling asleep. We’ll pick up Thursday,” is all I hear Reid say, before I decide to take the prescription slip.