A young man seeks help with his demons.
Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
*********
As I sat fuming in my cubicle, a seething anger oozed from between my teeth. My eyes burned red and a boiling fury ignited through my body, balling up my fist and slamming it down in front of me. Sparks flew and keys disintegrated as I watched the screen of my innocent laptop flicker to black . . . Fucking file!
My life changed forever that day as I stood in my boss’ doorway, nervously clutching my inoperable and disfigured workstation in my arms. With a flushed face and a rapid pulse I tried to think of how to explain away the swift and unexpected annihilation of company property.
To be honest, even I was shocked by my sudden emotional outburst. I never lose my cool like that. I mean, calm composure is kind of my thing. Even as a child or teenager I could find ways to diffuse situations instead of escalating them.
So how on earth did someone like me get to a point where an inanimate icon could bring about such an unexpected act of physical aggression? I had no idea.
As a consequence of the whole ordeal, my boss Emily demanded I see a specialist to resolve my apparent anger issues. After all, she reasoned, the world is filled with people and computer problems, and hardly any of them feel the need to punch their digital workhorses into oblivion.
So I agreed to get help, mostly to assure Emily that the computer replacement she had put on order would not suffer a similar fate, but also because I wanted to see if something was actually the matter with me . . .
Looking forward to some professional answers, I made the appointment. Emily suggested an office down the street specializing in ‘holistic healing’ or something like that. I was hardly a believer in alternative medicine, (it all seemed like sleight of hand to me), but seeing as how my boss was making the referral, how could I refuse?
My appointment was with Dr. Rachel Blancet, a “practitioner” whose credentials included a doctoral degree in metaphysics . . . whatever that was. But, if acupuncture or voodoo or something could help me get to the bottom of my problems, then have at it.
The first couple sessions with Dr. Blancet were innocuous, even amusing. We would talk about my family and my life as twinkling chimes and whale sounds played in the background. I think she must have been just trying to find a place to start with me at that point.
In the next session we began some of her ‘energy work’ as she called it, which had me lying face up in a robe, stretched across a massage table where she placed hot, wet towels all over my skin. The room was filled with heady smells and enchanting music; and it was relaxing, but I was feeling no different by the end of it.
During that session we talked about my father, and how he and I had never connected emotionally. My dad was an independent sort of man, and a bit gruff to talk to. He sold machine tools for a living and had a passion for fishing, both subjects I had zero interest in. We rarely talked about anything meaningful, and the only thing I could remember ever connecting with him on was our shared interest in old westerns.
Dad had left my mom about a year before, and Mom and I had both seen it coming. He’d always been leaving us for extended periods, and I was starting to think he only came back for me. When he finally left her for good, it felt like more like a relief than anything. In fact, Mom and I just got closer as a result.
Evidently something significant had come up toward the end of that particular session with Rachel. She mentioned the energy in the room had ‘shifted’, not that I had any idea of what she was talking about. She knew right where to begin for our next meeting and ended up moving my appointment ahead a few days to get started.
I remember walking in that day on a lunch break from work. I was enjoying the woodsy smells of massage oils and the peaceful ambiance that always seemed to hang in the air. I sank into a comfortable chair while Dr. Blancet prattled on the phone behind her large desk, a barricade of new age wisdom pamphlets framing the view. The dark colors and tranquil music in the room were soothing, and it was then that I realized . . . I was actually starting to look forward to this part of my week.
I listened to Rachel’s spirited voice as she continued to talk, and she waved a bejeweled hand to me in greeting, jangling her many bracelets.
I felt blessed to have such a wonderful soul helping me through an issue I had never known existed. Her pretty blue eyes always sparkled with life. They were fun to look at, and her exuberant personality made them hard to resist. She always wore airy blouses and long flowery skirts; very put together to be sure, but in a more ethereal way.
When she hung up, Dr. Blancet stood and looked across the room into my eyes and paused for a moment, staring. I noticed her lingering gaze, her soft motherly demeanor, and I thought she might have been trying to size me up anew or something. In any other situation it would have made for an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn’t.
“You ready?” is all she finally said.
I nodded and followed her into a side room, one much different than the candlelit therapy rooms we had been using up until then. The room looked extremely comfortable, but in a fresh way, like a brightly lit sitting room you might find in a modern town home.
We made a little small talk as Rachel sat herself on a boxy white leather chair. She motioned for me to sit on a similar loveseat positioned at a right angle to the chair. It was amazingly comfortable, and as I sank in, I instantly began feeling more at ease than I had been feeling all month.
Rachel started asking me questions right away. This was new, as she typically started our sessions by mysteriously ‘clearing the energies’ of the room, or some other ritualistic thing. This time it seemed like an actual therapy session in a modern doctor’s office.
“Like I mentioned last time,” she began casually, “I’m getting a sense that your father is not the root cause of your energy block, as I’d originally suspected.” She piled up her hands on her stack of knees. “I am definitely getting a lot of obstruction from you though, let’s talk a little more about your mother. How is that relationship?”
Her voice was calm and reassuring, and I felt words just rising out of me. “Well, Mom and I have always been close, as far back as I can remember. We honestly have fun whenever we’re together, and I can’t imagine she could have anything at all to do with my negative feelings.”
“Do you hold any resentment toward her for not making it work with your father?” Rachel gazed at me, seriously probing my psyche.
“Well . . . I guess I always felt bad for her having to be married to such a hard-hearted person, she’s always been so thoughtful and sincere. Sure, Dad never seemed to acknowledge her value like he should have, but it’s not like I expected much from him in the first place. I’m not sure she could have changed him if she tried.” I looked up for confirmation that I had sufficiently answered her question. Rachel continued unflinching.
“I am still sensing an underlying frustration; does she ever make you angry?” Rachel’s look to me was sincere, although the question seemed ridiculous.
“Mom? She couldn’t make anyone angry,” I said honestly. “I mean, the only thing about her that remotely upsets me is she doesn’t get out as much as she probably should. Also, she’s started drinking more, which can be a bit frustrating.”
Rachel raised her eyebrows to me, and my heart sank. Somewhere hidden inside I knew it was Mom; but I didn’t want it to be. I felt Rachel’s look to me soften, and I knew we were headed into a darker place in my mind.
My mouth lost all moisture. I tried to lick my tongue across my parched lips but the attempt was futile. She noticed.
“So her drinking upsets you then?” Rachel asked, standing and moving toward a desk in the corner of the room. My eyes followed her tall form as she reached for a glass of icy water on a tray I hadn’t noticed.
“Well, I guess she can do what she wants. I don’t think she’s turning into an alcoholic or anything, if that’s what you mean,” I said, hesitant to get into it further. “She lives alone, and personally I don’t think drinking by yourself is a good idea. I make sure to visit her often and just keep a casual eye out. I really don’t mind being there; like I said, she’s a lot of fun.”
Rachel returned to the seating area and took the cushion next to me on the loveseat, placing the glass of water in my hands. It was cool and damp to the touch. I took a quenching sip, then nervously clung to the glass and lowered it to my lap. I was starting to sweat.