Forgotten

I used to be one of those people who could sleep through a rock concert. About a month ago, I started waking every night between midnight and 2:00 with a sense of foreboding – sometimes outright fear. I didn’t dream, I just had feelings.

When I told my friend, Anna, she said, “What if it’s a premonition?” She put her hands on her cheeks and shrieked, “Oh, my God, Beth! You’re going to die!”

With a wry smirk, I said, “Given enough time, we all are.” When she put her finger up, I added, “You know I don’t believe in that kind of mumbo jumbo.”

She put her finger down, shut her mouth, and shrugged.

I said, “I just need to figure out why this is happening. It’s not like I’ve been watching horror movies.”

Anna, ever the concerned friend, replied, “I know a good therapist. He really helped my brother work through stuff with his girlfriend, and that’s not mumbo jumbo!”

“At this point, I’ll try anything. It’s hard to stay awake at work when I don’t get enough sleep. Give me his number.”

I managed to get an appointment the following Thursday, due to a cancelation. Dr. Karl Schumann shook my hand and smiled. I liked that he was middle aged. I reasoned that a young doctor wouldn’t have much experience, and an older one could be potentially jaded or checked out. He led me to his office. It was clean and cozy looking. A calming shade of pale blue with some interesting abstract art adorned the walls. His desk was sparse and neat.

We sat in comfortable armchairs, facing one another. He asked, “What can I do for you, Beth?”

I got apprehensive. I’d never been to a therapist before. “Well, um, I’m, um, having trouble sleeping through the night.”

“How is your home life?”

“I live alone. I get along pretty well with myself.” I chuckled nervously.

He smiled and said, “Tell me about your work.”

“I’m a fifth-year architect with Simon and Gibb’s. It’s my first job out of college. It has its challenges, but I love the work, and my co-workers are great.

He leaned in. “How about your friends and family?"

“My friend, Anna, recommended you. She’s a bit cuckoo.” I chuckled again. “Oh, sorry, I mean, she’s a bit excentric, but that’s what makes her fun. My mom and my brother are great. They live where I grew up, in Ohio. I call my mom every week and text my brother almost daily.”

“…and your father?”

“Oh, he passed away six months ago.”

“Were you close?”

“Um, I suppose.”

“I’d like to try an imagery exercise with you. Does that sound okay?”

“Sure. What is it?

“I’d like to see if we can access closed off areas of your mind. Close your eyes and picture a safe place.” He gave me some time, then asked, “What do you see?”

It felt like mumbo jumbo, but I was a team player, so I rolled with it.

I reported, “I’m sitting on a tree stump by the river where I grew up.”

“Nice. Do you see any animals that may be willing to tell you secrets?”

“There’s a frog, but I can tell he won’t help.”

By this time, I was thinking, What am I doing here? This is ridiculous.

He asked, “Does the frog know someone who may be more helpful?”

“The heron! There’s a heron in the shallows.” I thought, What is going on here?

He asked, “What does the heron say, Beth?”

With my eyes still closed, I looked at the heron. She said two words, “Your dad…”

A flood of memories washed over me. I was sitting between my parents in the car. Dad was driving. Mom was asleep. Dad reached over and started caressing my breast. I was shocked, but I didn’t want to wake up Mom, so I leaned away as far as I could and stayed still.

Flash forward. He came to me in the night sometime between midnight and 2:00 and touched me inappropriately. He whispered, “You want me, don’t you?”

I told him, “I’m scared.” He left.

Another time, things went further. I didn’t have the courage to say, “No.”

After several such instances, I finally told him, “I feel like we’re cheating on Mom.”

He said, “You’re right.” He never touched me again.

Years later, he apologized. I wanted to forget. I boxed it up and closed it in its own little room in my mind. I didn’t want that memory visited again, and now, here it was, cut open like a fresh wound.

I told Dr. Schumann everything.

He told me never had anyone in his experience come so far so quickly.

I had a few more appointments with him. He helped me determine that this was haunting me now because my niece, Janet, was about to turn the age I was when this happened, and that it was also triggered by the death of my father.

How I had closed the room off so fully was a mystery, but since opening it and working through those memories, I could probably sleep through a rock concert again.

*

Author's note: While this story is fictional, if you or someone you love experiences such abuse, don't be afraid to shout, "No!" and seek help.