Desperate Remedies

“There is this desperate need to always afflict. To run. To create destruction. To drop proverbial bombs that detonate on arrival. It is an empty feeling. It is what you are calling survival.”

              Rachel Wallace shifted in her seat. She held onto the glass of water, in her hands, too tightly but she desperately had a feeling of needing something to hold onto. Her therapist, Cecil, waited patiently for Rachel to regain some semblance of calm. She reached out with a box of tissues, but Rachel waved her off.

“What are you thinking?” Cecil waited as Rachel put the glass of water on the side table next to her. “I am so desperate to find a feeling of calm.”  Cecil nodded. Rachel continued. “I am drinking herbal teas. Picking apart stress vitamins in drugstores. Even going to fortune tellers. All desperation.” Cecil wrote the word desperation on the notepad in front of her. “I think desperation is the common theme.” Rachel grabbed the glass of water off the side table, once again. Her mind drifting.

              Six months ago, her life changed drastically. Her relationship, of six years, had ended. Her boyfriend decided they were no longer compatible. They had fallen into a mundane and predictable lifestyle; he told Rachel and decided it was time to move on. He moved out of their apartment and never answered a phone call or text that Rachel sent. It was three weeks before she found out that he had moved in with his new girlfriend. Rachel then realized that the last couple of years may have been a tragic lie. Then, a month later, Rachel was replaced in her job as a magazine editor. She was financially stable enough to support herself with her savings, but they were dwindling, and she was struggling to find consistent work. If all of that was not enough, she found out that her mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer a month before. It had shaken her core. Her mother, still to her credit, was living as if she had no diagnosis. Spending a lot of time in her garden and reading novels kept her entertained. Rachel’s father cooking her extravagant meals and taking her on weekend trips for simple enjoyment.

              But Rachel was feeling overwhelmed. She had gone to support groups. She had spent a lot of the days online trying to find ways to deal with her overwhelming feeling of emptiness. She went on dates with men she was not genuinely interested in. She even ditched one of the dates after excusing herself to go to the bathroom. She then spent two hours in her car, listening to sad love songs, and sobbing uncontrollably. During brunch with her closest friend, Vera, she told her she felt like she was never going to find peace of mind. Vera recommended Cecil. Vera knew her through business connections and had heard good things about her as a therapist. Someone who was compassionate but a realist. Rachel hesitated for a week before calling to make an appointment.

              Cecil’s words interrupted Rachel’s thoughts. “I wonder, what is the thing that you want most?” Rachel glanced at Cecil. She was a well-dressed woman. Her nails were manicured. Her hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her gold rimmed glasses, most likely expensive. She appeared one way, but she spoke with softness in her voice. She never spoke with no perceived judgement. She had a calming presence. That is why Rachel came back after the first meeting. Now it was their sixth.

              “I don’t know.” Rachel felt a pit in her stomach. “That is what you need to figure out Rachel.” Cecil looked at her watch. “That is our time.” Rachel stood up and looked out Cecil’s office window. It was a day full of sunshine and the temperature was around eighty degrees. “Rachel, there are a lot of things that are self-harming. One of the things overlooked, is the unconscious way we determine that we can never find happiness when things go wrong. We continually compound the negativity and do not notice the positive.” Cecil passed Rachel an envelope. “A long time ago, I had a client who was desperate to find peace of mind. She had even gone across the world and spent thirty days disconnected. It did not help her. She came to me reaching her breaking point. She is the owner of a small boutique now. She wrote me this letter. She encouraged me to give copies to clients.” Rachel took the envelope. “Next Thursday at noon.” Rachel nodded and headed out of Cecil’s office.

              Rachel felt the sand beneath her feet. It was warm but not scorchingly hot. The water was a clear blue. Rachel had decided to go to the beach. Something she had not done since the summer had begun. The beach was not overly crowded. Rachel placed her green striped towel on the sand and sat down. She watched the waves of the water. The boats far out on the horizon. The seagulls flying in and out. She observed her surroundings for a while before she opened the envelope Cecil had given her.

              Cecil,

I am sitting here, on my grandmother’s back porch. She is chattering on about watering her garden and baking a cake for my niece’s birthday party. She lives in a small house, in a small town, with three traffic lights. She likes it here. She has never complained about the simplicity or quietness of it. I have been here for three days. A last desperate attempt to find some peace of mind. I have struggled since my father passed away, as you know. I do not remember the last time I pulled the curtains back in my apartment. Another thing you know of course. But something happened this morning. I was sitting in my grandmother’s backyard, listening to the birds’ chirp, and watching the wind move the tall grass surrounding the property line. My grandmother brought me a cup of coffee and sat next to me. Then spoke. “Do you know the hardest thing about being human,” she asked me. I simply said no. “We were created with the capacity to love and feel pain. We were created with this desire to want to be loved unconditionally. To have security. Then when things happen to shatter our security, we fear the pain will last forever. We panic.” My grandmother stopped talking for a second and then said the most impactful thing I had heard in some time.

“The panic drives us. Blinds us. We unconsciously forget to ask for help. We want to do it alone. But you are not alone. Someone will understand your pain. In my experience, there is compassion and generosity in this world. Someone will give you a hand, even if the hand is battered and bruised.” My grandmother put her hand on my shoulder then and I could feel the strength of her words.

Things have not been easy. But I took my grandmother’s extended hand and held on tight.

              Rachel placed the letter back into the envelope. She sat there for a second, feeling the summer breeze on her skin. A hand on her shoulder startled Rachel. She turned to find a woman with sunglasses, long braids and glowing skin standing before her. “I think your hair is gorgeous.” Rachel touched her hair briefly, remembering that her naturally curly hair was flowing in the summer wind. “Thank you.” “You seem sad.” Rachel was startled by this stranger’s quick assessment of her demeanor. “I have had a hard time lately.” Now Rachel was shocked by her own honesty with a stranger. The woman sat down next to Rachel. “Desperate for a pain remedy?” the woman asked. “Yes,” Rachel replied. “Take my hand.” The two women walked to the edge of the water and Rachel felt the warm water touching her feet. “What has been the hardest thing for you?” Rachel looked out into the water. “Self-love.” “Take my hand again.” The two women went deeper into the water. Now at waist level. Rachel ignored the fact that she was dressed in a jumpsuit and not normal beach attire. “Do you think if you swam to other side of the ocean, all your problems would go away?” Rachel shook her head. “Running away is what most of us go to. But it does not necessarily fix anything. What if you turned around and went back?” Rachel looked at the woman with confusion. “I would just be going back to my problems.” The woman took off her sunglasses and Rachel noticed she had strikingly hazel eyes. “Only if you choose to.” “My mother has stomach cancer. My boyfriend left me and lied about why. I lost my job…” Rachel trailed off, remembering she was still speaking to a stranger. But the woman did not seem bothered by Rachel’s honesty. “When my father passed away, I felt like I could never keep my head above water. I was eating Ramen and sitting for hours in my apartment with zero noise. It was painful. But then my grandmother gave me a hand. Pulled me up. It was not a quick process, but she never let go.” Rachel looked at the woman now, wondering if divine intervention was really a thing. “My name is Rachel.” The woman smiled. “Ayla.”

              It was three weeks later, and Rachel was sitting in Cecil’s office. She had just recently started working as a social media manager for a local business. She had visited her mother and spent hours with her in the garden, listening to her mother tell stories of her childhood or parts of her life, Rachel had never known. She had met Ayla every week, on Friday. They would get dressed up and head to a fancy restaurant they both liked and eat a delicious meal while discussing their weeks. It had proven to be instrumental in helping Rachel’s wellbeing.

              “What is the thing that you want the most?” Cecil asked the same question she had asked weeks before. Without hesitation Rachel replied, “Continued generosity.”