Today I Am Grateful

I walk into the waiting room, knowing full well how much of a waste of time this next hour will be. I take in this sorry excuse for an office - paint-chipped walls, outdated scratchy upholstered chairs, and the saddest looking people you will find in the tristate area. This drab setting, however, will not get my eye off of the ball. I can sell this miserable reality, wrapping it in paper lined with pure tragedy paper and tying it up with a bow laced with existential dread and crushed dreams. 60 minutes, an act of a lifetime, and I walk out with a prescription that tucks me into bed and puts me to sleep before I even have to pretend to entertain my girlfriend’s latest “insightful discovery.”

I make my way to the check-in desk where a pretty lady named Sandra asks for my name. In exchange for this information, she hands me a clipboard bursting with the most tedious paperwork. As I head over to take a seat in the corner of the squarest office known to man, the scratchiness of the chair finally makes sense to me. 

What kind of hopeless soul seeks out such drudgery? 

Just as I take in the irony of this situation, I catch a glimpse of myself in the dull mirror, and quickly avert my gaze to the stack of papers on my lap. I run the papers back to the pretty lady with a wink that she discards like a stale, uninspired invitation. 

Fair enough.

I look down again, at my shoes this time, to see them shining back at me with a pristine luster. Suddenly, I hear my name called out by a frail woman in the door who leads me into a narrow hallway. She looks fragile, like under layers of hard work, sleepless nights, the most peculiar oval-shaped spectacles, and unruly bangs, she once was young and charming. What a sad, sad predicament, huh?

I follow her through the fluorescently lit corridor into a small and, to put it lightly, “humble” office. Countless framed degrees adorn the peeling walls of the office. To break the silence, I clear my throat and spark up the conversation.

“Nice office you’ve got here. Guess it pays off to be a second-rate therapist at your local clinic, eh?”

Her expression remains unchanged as she sifts through my paperwork in that forbidden, generic manilla envelope. 

“Right,”  she responds flatly, giving me a quick once-over through those infamous spectacles. Clearly a sense of humor has never occurred to her. 

“So tell me why you’re here..” 

“Eric”

“Eric. Yes.”

“Well, you see, I’m having trouble falling asleep. And trust me, looking this good is half of my job, so you see the position that puts me in,” I say, completing the thought with one of my crowd-pleasing smirks. 

The woman does not but flinch, and the picking and prodding begins. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s say those numerous so-called “Psychology” degrees have little value to me after that encounter. All I can remember is my shoes. Previously shining so brightly, it’s almost as if walking them into this office has made them devoid of all light. As those 60 minutes passed, painfully slow may I add, I saw the shine in my shoes slowly wear away. At least my own reflection was no longer looking back at me, watching this sorry hour of my life unfold before me.

—

Next thing I know, Dr. Elaine (what a name, right?) tries to send me packing with nothing but a silly notebook and a homework assignment for next week.

“Excuse me, I think you’ve misunderstood,” I interject, as she gives me the rundown on her “professional opinion” that I could not care less about in this moment. 

“I don’t think I have,” she replies gently, and I see a brief flash of something in her eye. My fists clench immediately. Where does she get off? Does she not realize what’s unfolding right in front of her? I am everything that she has always wanted, but could never have. I have everything she’s ever wanted but could never afford! So whatever twisted perception she has of me, there is no reason for her to have shot me such a look. The look that a man of my stature invented. I can’t help it as my brow furrows and my lip quivers. That look. The only look that could enrage me so.

Pity.

I snatch the journal from her hands and storm off, my mouth dry, palms clammy. My head pounds under the damn cheap fluorescent light, and I am off in a blur. But not before she can get the last word in.

“Things begin to look less bleak when you find the light, Eric.”

—

I shudder awake, ripping the covers away from my girlfriend’s small frame. Please stay asleep, I pray to myself. She rolls over and continues to sleep peacefully as if nothing happened. That was close. 

But the second I rest my head on the pillow again, my thoughts spiral out of control, the hundreds of them multiplying into a sea of characters that I can’t begin to understand as I start to drown in them. I try to close my eyes and quiet my mind, but it’s as if I’m swimming and can only manage to get further from shore. I’m in a crowd of people, I’m screaming for help, but no one can hear me. I’m reading the latest case at work and suddenly, it’s all in a language I can’t process. I peel myself from the bed, slowly, and make my way down the hall. 

My hand shakes as I pour myself a glass of water in the kitchen and suddenly, I’m back in that therapist’s office. It comes in flashes. Words and phrases she threw out at me in those wasted 60 minutes. The tense feeling in my chest, swelling with pride. And then it bursts. I’m shaken back to the present. And I’ve entered this cold, uninviting space where all that is left for me is self-loathing.

I reach for something stronger to drink, but that only makes me feel worse. As I pad back to my bedroom, distracted and completely in the dark, I knock into the coat rack, and out comes flying that lousy journal. I grab a hold of the ridiculous book, and although every part of me wants to send it flying down the balcony of my penthouse apartment, I place it behind the books in my shelf. Where no one can find it. Because how embarrassing would that be?

—

I stare at the clock as it strikes quarter to seven. 15 minutes until my next appointment with Dr. Elaine. I try to put it out of my mind, drown myself in work, send a cheeky text to my girlfriend. But nothing seems to work. Finally, I grab my coat and head out of the office for the day. I move onto the last resort - a walk to try and clear my head. I’ve always loved the fall. Something about the somber shadows and smell of pumpkin, though I would not be caught dead admitting that to anyone. I rake a shaky hand through the thick lock of hair that fell into my eye. Steady. I breathe in that New England breeze, but the breath catches in my throat. Once I finally regain my composure, my body stops mid-step. I’ve arrived.

As I reluctantly turn the corner and head up the last set of stairs, that pain in my chest returns, and I look back down at my shoes. Duller than ever. I twist the doorknob in front of me, not letting another doubt cross my mind before it’s too late to turn back. I’m back at the saddest office in Boston. 

I head over to my scratchy corner chair that’s frayed at the edges and worn thin from too much abuse. I rest my head in my hands until I take notice of the square bulge in my coat pocket. I forgot about that stupid journal. I guess now is as good a time as any to jot down some sweet-talking bullshit to make yet another clueless woman happy.

Right when I finish up, Dr. Elaine appears in the doorway. Her presence makes me feel slightly more relieved. But she doesn’t need to know that. As I follow her back into her office, she reveals that a part of her didn’t know if I’d ever come back.

“I don’t give up that easily,” I retort. 

“I had a feeling…” she remarks, sneaking me a sarcastic glance. “Now let’s see those exercises, shall we?”

—

“Wait!” I plea.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, please spare me the disrespect!”

“Dr. Elaine-”

“And you can forget about those sleeping pills,” she hisses. She looks at me with a mixture of pain and straight-up exhaustion. “You can see yourself out.” She already sounds far away as she turns her back on me and shuffles some papers around her desk.

“No.” I remark firmly, the sturdiest and most certain I have felt in months. Dr. Elaine looks up at me with intrigue.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

—

The quiet is unsettling at first. But eventually, it grows on us. As I sit there collecting my thoughts, I feel as if I’m at a loss, not quite sure where to begin. My thoughts float around like the remains of a shipwreck - not sure what hit ‘em but sure of one thing - it’s all broken anyway. I run my hand through my hair again, trembling as if on cue. I let out a shaky breath. “So, where should I begin?”

— 

Dr. Elaine lets out a soft chuckle. “You don’t go easy Eric, do you?”

“Well where’s the fun in that?” I reply.

“Okay, okay.” “Onto the next one,” she says very matter-of-factly.

Entry 3 - 11/10/15 

Today I am grateful that Freddy called. Jemma took her first steps today. I pretended to listen to some other stuff he said. Nice to hear his voice when he’s not asking for something in return.

“Hm, this one’s interesting,” she ponders. “Are you always waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

“Yeah, I mean, Freddy’s quite a character” I recount, avoidant, while letting out a chuckle.

Dr. Elaine still looks deep in thought, like there are words on the tip of her tongue that she can’t manage to part with. I suddenly feel very insecure.

—

Entry 28 - 12/5/15 

Today I am grateful for the time that Mae made me laugh. She can be funny sometimes. Didn’t know she had it in her. She’s damn cute when she wears that blue dress, too.

“Mae?” 

“My girlfriend.”

“I assumed,” Dr. Elaine spoke lightly. She smiled, a compassionate and tight little grin. “And do you like her?” she challenges.

“You have no idea.”

— 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I button up my shirt. For the first time in a while, I don’t immediately look away. That’s when I see Mae emerge from her sleepy haze. First I see her elbow, then her shoulder, then her face. She radiates the kind of beauty that is sweet to the taste and hot to the touch. I snap back into the moment, tie my tie, kiss her good morning, then head out for work. I brush my hair from my eyes, and the luster of my shoes is almost obnoxiously bright. I rub my eyes. Much better.

— 

Entry 71 - 1/17/16

Today I am grateful that Jim and I won our case. Guess he did a good job, along with my help of course.

“And how did this victory make you feel, Eric?”

“Like for a minute, nothing else mattered.”

—

I hear a pounding on the door and my body turns ice cold. Frozen. I put down my wine glass and Mae gives me a look. Confusion, concern. She doesn’t know who’s arrived, but I do. I saw this day coming that brisk fall evening. When I finally broke. When I went to see Dr. Elaine for the first time. I try to swallow all of the feelings that are fighting to burst out of me. The feelings I’ve been pushing down for so long, too long. 

“Who is it?” Mae asks in fear.

I cannot answer. I do not answer. All I can do is show her.

With that, I swing open the door, revealing exactly the kind of man I was expecting, down to the Burberry scarf. I look down, his shoes bright as a quarter. I take in the whole picture. And that’s when the swing comes in, but all I can hear is the sound of Mae’s glass crashing into the wood-paneled floors, bleeding the finest Cabernet Sauvignon.

And I finally crack at the sight of Mae’s husband.

— 

In this moment memories flash through my mind like the whirlwind of a storm. From the moment I first saw her, to our first kiss on that cool, rainy night. To the first time I knew I loved her with my hands around her waist. To the day that she told me everything. My breath catches, and as I lay on the ground, knocked out, I can’t seem to find the strength to get up. Then I hear the faintest whisper, and just like that, I begin to let go. Not of her, the woman beside me in tears, or the man in front of me sobbing in my doorway. Of the past year, so full of resentment, packed down tightly with no room to breathe. A love that was so all-consuming that it led me to live a lie with the same unfortunate fate. And I forgave him. I forgave her. I forgave all of the people who tried to help me in the past year. I forgave all of the women who tried to help me in the past year. But most of all, I forgave myself.

—

Entry 105 - 2/20/16

Today I am grateful. She’s gone.