Monday, March 19, 2012

Chapter Three

I lean against my counter tapping lightly.  Staring at my phone.  It’s 5:58 PM.  I have my first call with Dr. Weirdo in 2 minutes.  I’m very disinterested.  I don’t want to talk about it all.  I can’t even fathom how the fuck I got here so I highly doubt anyone can help me sort it out.  But I have to at least try.  I know this might be the only way out of this darkness.

Ring.

“Hi John.”  “Hello Tarah, how are you?” “Never better,” I grumble sarcastically.  And so it begins.  The conversation is surprisingly effortless and he is surprisingly interesting.  I have an immediate ease not having to look someone in the eye.  I feel that I can be more open, honest.  I listen intently as he tells me a bit about his history, losing everything to ultimately find something better.  He explains emotional addiction to me – codependence.  It is clear, that what I have fallen into is this.  

We talk very little about the ‘now’.  Him.  He wants my history.  The back story.  I presume it’s to understand how I may have ended up at the now.  How I’ve ended up entangled in him.

“So tell me what happened to you around…let me guess?  Age 14?  Because something happened and there’s still a 14 year old girl standing still inside of you.  Your reactions are coming from her.” Holy shit.  This guy is good.  I didn’t need to think about it.  I’ve always known that everything changed for me at that age.  “My father lost his job, my family ultimately lost everything we had and he became an alcoholic.”  This wasn’t news to me, or anyone in my life for that matter.  I have always been open about everything about myself.  Well, until him.  This intrigued John.  This he could work with.  

He pegs my traits to a T.  Apparently I’m ridiculously text book and exhibit many of the symptoms of an adult child of an alcoholic.  Such as:

...guessing at what normal is.
...have difficulty in following a project through from beginning to end (not with work but with anything else).
...judge themselves without mercy.
...have difficulty with intimate relationships (for me it was with men).
...overreact to changes over which they have no control.
...feel that they are different from other people.
...are either super responsible or super irresponsible.
...are extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence that loyalty is undeserved.  

The last one stops me.  Extremely loyal, even in the face of evidence that loyalty is undeserved.  Him.

"Tarah?  Are you still there?" Oh shit.  I snap myself quickly back to reality.  To John.  "Yes, still here.  Sorry," I mumble.  "Tarah, this is a process, not an event.  It took a long time for you to get this way, it's going to take awhile to unravel it.  Remember, process, not an event."  I make a mental note.  "What's important for you to remind yourself right now - because you are emotionally vulnerable is to Act: Not React.  Write that down, Tarah.  Make that your mantra over the next few months.  Because every time you're reactionary, you take a step backwards." Is it possible for me to take any steps backward?  I'm sitting at the bottom of a fucking well.

"So, what do you think?  You up for the challenge? Would you like to continue with this?" he asks.  I stare intently at the wall.  I like him.  He's a nice soul.  He's honest, humorous, self aware. I have to believe in something right now.  Anything.  Even a door knob.  Maybe he can be my doorknob.  "I'm up for it," I say mustering up every bit of internal gusto that I have.  "Good" he replies.  "How's Monday at noon?"  "Works for me," as I make a mental notation to block a conference room.  "I'm going to call and check in on you every now and then Tarah.  You don't have to answer the phone, I just want to remind you that you are wanted, needed and loved."  I groan.  This sappy shit might be the death of this relationship real quick.  "Don't worry, I won't pick up."  He laughs.  "Bye John, talk to you Monday."

Click.

I open my fridge, pull out the wine, fill it to the brim and take a large swig.  I feel a bit better; lighter having talked, having taken a step to help myself.  Maybe there's hope.  I sit in front of my computer and update my screen saver to be scrolling text in bright red.

ACT DON'T REACT

I scan my email.  Nothing.  No word from him.  I glance nervously at my phone.  Silence.  So much silence.  I can't bare another day in the office tomorrow.  Pacing.  Waiting.  Looking.  I email my boss.  There's an 'emergency' back home.  I need to work remotely.  I grab a duffel bag, throw some clothes in, grab my toothbrush and my keys and I leave the silence behind me. 

I text Amelia.  "Leave a light on for me, I'm coming home."

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