MDMA: Modern Day Medusa, Abigail

I never intended my life to be like this. I don’t think anyone really does. This isn’t the life we are promised in school when the teachers pressure us to turn our homework in on time, or the movies portray as the girl gets her prince charming. This isn’t the happily ever after I had in mind. It isn’t even happy. To walk around, doing “normal” life things, and being constantly afraid of what’s going to happen next. Feeling my heartbeat speed up as my friends leave me in a room with a man we just met, or when I’m crossing paths with a person that has their hood up on the sidewalk. That inexplicable fear, leading me to turn men to stone as their kind remarks are met with my stunning glare. All because I am constantly in the state of protecting myself from any and all harm. Logical or not. I didn’t ask for this. No one does.

Yet here I am.

I’m still trying to figure out how to fix this or… if it’s even fixable.

1

“Let’s go over it again. After all, storytelling is one of the ways to heal the trauma.” I stare blankly at the corner of my screen, avoiding the eager stare of my therapist as she tries her best to help. I don’t want to talk about it again. I’m sick of talking about it, and reliving it over and over and over…

“Can we do something else today? Maybe talk about the weather or work?” I solemnly plead.

“We spent the first 15 minutes of our session talking about that, Abigail. It’s been a year of us seeing each other. It's time to work through the trauma. You do want to get better, don’t you?” Yes, but she doesn’t understand that I have been reliving and retelling this exact story for years. I want to move on.

“I want to move on.”

“How can you move on if you don’t heal whatever is there? There’s no use putting a band-aid over an infection.” Well, there’s a new term to repeat to myself. Thanks doc. We sit in silence till I realize that she is the professional that isn’t operating from a trauma brain. I came to her knowing she is the best at what she does. With that thought, I take a deep breath and begin to recount the most traumatic memory from my childhood.

...

It’s about midday when I wake up. The sun is shining through the window above my dollhouse. I’m sure not much time has passed since I’ve been asleep, but I don't care. I took my nap, and now I can play. Before I get out of bed, I lay there quietly. Judging by the noises coming from the rest of the trailer to determine who is home. To determine if I would be safe to go out, or to even make a noise. The TV is playing quietly from the living space. Taking the risk, I walk quietly out of my bedroom and turn right down the hall. My fear instantly subsided when I saw my dad’s head poking up from the couch.

I am safe.

“Hi dad. I took my nap!” I chime excitedly. Thinking we could play together. Without turning his head he said, “No you didn’t. Go lay back down.”

“But dad, I did. I promise. I just woke up. Can we play?”

“No, go clean up your toys.” He still didn’t turn his head towards me.

“But dad I…”

“Abigail. Go clean. When you’re done, you can play.” He interrupted. Feeling defeated, I went back into my room. I took a few steps in, then stopped to look around my room. It was already clean. No toys were left out, the beds looked tidy. I stood there a moment longer before going back out.

“My room is clean.” I chimed from the entry to the living space

“No it’s not, go back in there.”

“But dad, it is. I promise.” I stayed in my spot as a moment of silence passed between us. He didn’t look back at me as he said, “Come here.” As I began to move my feet, they became heavy. Each step felt methodical as I walked around the couch to meet him.

“Watch this movie with me.” He said.

...

“I’m done.”

“Are you sure?” my therapist asked.

“Yes.” I affirmed. That feeling of defiance I felt before was replaced with a heavy weight in my chest. My heart was pounding, and I could barely form a thought.

“Okay. At least we got that far. Let’s schedule another session for next week. Does the same day and time work for you?” I nodded my head. “Are you okay Abigail?” I nodded my head.

“Do you feel safe to be alone tonight?” Her gaze felt hot.

“Yes.” I answered.

After the meeting ended, I sat staring at my keyboard. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but I also couldn’t feel anything at the same time. Rather I didn’t want to feel anything. I just wanted to be completely numb to the reactions my mind and body were having from the short visit to the past. It’s not like I don’t let myself feel, my emotions run my life more times than not. At this moment, I wanted logic to rule out. I was safe, maybe not in my past, but in that moment. I was safe. I was home, where I lived alone with my dog. I looked over at her to notice she was watching me very intently from the couch. Waiting for me to call her name, or react dramatically. Anything to signal her that her work is needed.

They say dogs can sense when their owners are in distress. Some type of imprint mambo jumbo. Was this her sensing that I wasn’t okay? Even though I wasn’t reacting at all really. I sat there silently, staring back at her. Not moving a muscle. Not sure what to do next, or if there was really anything to do next. Judging by the smell coming from the garbage can next to me, I knew there were some chores I could distract myself with. I still didn’t move though. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. It was almost as if I knew that once I started to exist in the present reality again, all of the pain and guilt and anger and self-pity would manifest. Hitting me like a freight train, leaving me in ruins. Though if I just stayed where I was, then I wouldn’t have to face reality. I wouldn’t have to process whatever it was that was bubbling inside of me. That sounded more desirable than the other option. So I stayed. Sitting, silent, numbing every nook and cranny of my being.

Suddenly my phone rang, it was my brother.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. Just sitting here. Why? What’s up?”

“Could you by chance run Emmy to work today?” He asked.

“Yeah, just let me take Ember out and I’ll head over.”

“Cool, thank you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, bye.”

Pausing for just one more moment, I slowly peeled myself from the kitchen chair. Just don’t think about it. I thought to myself. Leave it at the table.