One Day At A Time

“Are you ready?” she asks, diming the lights with the dial on the wall.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I admit as I lean back against the chair, allowing my head to relax against the back and hang slightly. Just enough to where I don’t feel like I’m holding up my head any longer.

“Like we discussed, this may not work. But it’s worth a try. Hypnosis has proven to be beneficial in many treatments of trauma and addiction.”

“I’m ready… no matter what happens.”

I let out a deep breath I realize I’ve been holding in my chest since I stepped into the room. She starts the soothing music to allow me to block out the sounds from the road. Sunlight mixes with the incense smoke that rises into the air. The light reassures me that I am safe. During the daylight hours, I don’t have to worry.

“Let’s begin then,” the therapist states, gathering my attention as she sits on the black sofa across from me. “Go ahead and close your eyes.”

I obey, willing to try anything at this point. I try to relax but can’t help feeling a wave of nervousness wash over me. I bunch and then flatten my hands before resting them on my thighs. I need to try my hardest to make this work.

“Listen to the sound of my voice, growing softer and softer as you start to relax your body. Let the tension go. Let the worry go. Nothing else exists but this moment,” she begins.

“You are drifting to sleep as though it’s been a long day. Your dead tired, exhausted, and can’t hold your head up any longer. You lay in your bed, safe and warm. You begin to fall asleep.”

The dialogue continues, and for the first few minutes I can’t help but think of everything at once. I’ve never been very good at meditating, but I’ve been trying. Any attempt to clear my mind and forget is a blessing of only a few blissful moments. The longer I listen to the therapist drown on, the more I become board. Then it feels like I’m snoring.

“Good. Now, take a deep breath and let it out slowly.” I follow the prompting but I’m slow to react. I can hear her speaking, but it feels suddenly very far away. My mind can’t decide if I’m dreaming or not.

“You’re doing great. It’s time for you to return to that place you’ve kept locked away. Tell me, what do you see?”

This part is easy for me because it’s what I see almost every night when I do eventually fall asleep after a fit of insomnia. I feel my body twitch as the scene becomes alive in my mind once more with such vivid detail and dimension. Already I can smell how stale the air is.

“I’m sitting in the denim high back chair, rubbing my hands against the arms as I try to convince myself to stop crying. I’ve been crying for what it seems like days, and I’ve discovered that it is possible to keep crying when you feel completely spent.”

“Where are you?” comes the distant, soothing voice of the therapist as though for once I’m not alone in this nightmare.

“Sitting in the small living room of the apartment close to the door that leads into the shared space with the neighbor upstairs. At this angel I can see into what I’ve been using as a dining room. Beyond that is the bathroom, next to which is my daughter’s room. It’s the middle of the night around three o’clock. The streetlight shines in through the windows, casting shadows on the worn gray carpet.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That I’m done with feeling all of this pain. That I finally want it out of my chest. I want to let go of the weight on my shoulders and arms. I honestly can’t see myself ever getting over it all,” I explain, that pain returning to me to the point where my arms slide to my sides. “I want it to all stop.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” I admit. “I’ll call my father right before I do it since he lives the closest. He’ll get there in time for Ava. That way she doesn’t see anything.”

“The pain must be awful if you’ve thought about it this much.”

“It is,” I agree. “I just want it to end. I want to stop feeling this heaviness on my shoulders and arms. I’ve made such a fool of myself as it is. No one will ever look at me the same again. I am living a life worse than hell could offer me.”

“But you don’t do it, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I get help. I call for help, instead. And that's how I'm talking to you today. Because I made the choice to live.”