The man's grip was soft, his handshake loose, not weak, not assertive, it was there, a formality without inquisition. "So Able," he began as the two took their seats. "How can i help you today? Tell me about yourself, what your expectations are, anywhere you'd like to start."
The therapist's hair was trim, his office neat, his clothes pressed. Able shifted in his pleather seat. It was comfortable enough. He scanned the room, and tried to imagine himself returning for regular sessions. "Well, unfortunately, the therapist, Miryam, whom i've been seeing for the last decade has just retired." Able paused while the man offered his sympathies. This was his fourth consultation in the last three months. A recommendation, from a recommendation. Magema's kind hearted nature had been a blessing and a curse. She'd garnished so much respect and good favour amongst her peers and colleagues there were many doors available to them both, but, because of that, finding someone that was outside of where friendship and professional courtesy blended had been difficult. As much as Able trusted therapist patient confidentiality, he still felt more comfortable speaking in a space where those lines weren't blurred. He needed a degree of distance, and anonymity, for the people in his life he may choose to speak of. "Thank you, well i don't want to waste any of our time, there are a few things that are necessary for my treatment. So, to start, for a long time, i've been good, in terms of my mental health. Not in crisis, not unhappy, feeling fulfilled more than not. And that's due to a long path of mindful wellness, routines, and an overwhelming amount of work. But basically, in order to keep myself on this path i need to make sure you're comfortable talking about darker things. Depression, suicide, i mean i'm a very happy person, i'm not in any danger, but i do need to know the next person i'm working with is someone i can bounce ideas off without too much concern. i have a tendency to impede my conversations trying to cater to my audience. Being able to speak openly, in a more or less objective space, works like a pressure valve, the feelings, and thoughts get released rather than buried, and compound."
The man raised his glasses, "i mean, i am a professional, Able. i've heard more than you can imagine."
Able blushed and apologized, "i hadn't meant to insult you- i know you are, i'm just troubleshooting. i don't want to dump things on you, don't want to alarm you. i want to make sure we're aligned with how i process, how i think. i like to think in the abstract, i like to turn stones, toss out hypotheticals, and can be highly engrossed. If i bottle up too many feelings, i start to fray, my anxiety peaks, i can't sleep, and when i do, i wake in full panic. My patience dwindles, and it's unfair to my family." A soft uncomfortable laugh escaped, attempting to lighten his words. "i can be a lot, and i guess, ya, and i don't want to be self conscious while i do the work, is this something you can handle?"
Between notes the therapist encouraged him to continue with a wave of his pen.
"Right. Ok, so i suffer from a very extreme chronic depression. Basically existing in a void of despair. Which, i'm not medicated for, sometimes extreme thoughts rattle around in my head, but i've come to terms with it all. i kinda love the darkness. In many ways now, it's become fuel. The sadness motivates me. i don't overly indulge the thoughts or emotions anymore, we coexist. i observe them as they come, give the appearance space, and send it off with gratitude. Sometime's i'll dig below the surface, let the ideas play out, and try to discover what the emotions are trying to tell me. What inevitably happens, if i do indulge, no matter how dark the feeling, is that i arrive at the same place. Let's start with the darkest thought, if i ended things, at its best it would be nothing but pure nothingness. Some alleviation, sure, but the consequences after are so profound and brutal. The suffering transferred. And it's never not like that, no matter how much i think it to death, the results are the same. More than they're tragic, they are devastating to others, there's no remedy, and worse still, it's boring. So obvious. And truth is, no matter how i play it, my arrival into the nothingness is inevitable. The game is rigged. At the same time, i am an active player, with some, though perhaps only in perception, autonomy. So why not gamble on myself, on the fates? The idea broken down is a yearning for change, even extreme change. What happens when i change myself? When if i rally? When i shift myself from being a victim to a hero. Not just for myself but for everyone, my family, my friends?"
The therapist sat in the silence, enveloped in the onslaught of ideas. It was some ways exciting, some ways terrifying to dive into these subjects. His mood shifted. The potential client moved from a patient in need to someone a little more intriguing, whose conversations held the possibility of being more reciprocal in their benefits. "Sounds like you're looking for a friend to philosophize with?"
Able shook his head no. "i still need a doctor, i still need support, and perspective. Life is hard. As confident as i am, i still fall. In comes the doubt. Which i'm also grateful for. It helps me. The one thing i'm certain of is how little i know. And i can't always look to my wife to help me tease apart all my mental burdens. It's not that she can't, it's that these affect her too, and part of being a good teammate is sometimes taking the ball to the goal all by yourself. i know she's there, but i need to train on my own as well. So, no doc, i need you for sure. i need to double check i'm not taking off and indulging in my own stories, i need fresh eyes from someone neutral, not only that i trust, but i respect. Especially in regards to stuff with the family, the kids, business, and you know, all the life stuff."
"And so how are you feeling today?"
Able's fingers went to his chin and he scratched. "What can I tell you? It's the same, same as always. My life is beautiful. i love my family. Most hours i'm filled with gratitude. There's things that frustrate me. When i read the news, i look at society, i tend to feel hopeless, discouraged, and whatnot. i'm working hard to accept it all, and i feel like i'm making progress more than not. i'm trying. i'm ok."
The little man pursed his lips and nodded. "And, how long has it been since you revisited the quote, unquote, void of despair?" his fingers mimicked the quotation marks, and Able winced. "How's the depression, do you still suffer from any adulation? Are these frequent thoughts?"
With a deep breath, Able shifted into a sea that was clearly uncomfortable. "i mean, it feels like an anchor, a weight, and it's something that i've learned to cope with. The depression never lifts. In a sick way, at times i wonder if i have some sort of longing for the darkness. As much as i love my life, at every moment these feelings are a part of me, and, i'm just so tired. It's been like this for as long as i can remember, since i was a kid, the exhaustion. i remember gazing out of my bedroom window, looking at the branches behind the curtains. It was beautiful. The sky was bright, blue, the Sun shining. i could hear my friends outside, playing, waiting for me to join. Objectively, everything was fantastic. Yet, i was still exhausted. Emotionally, spiritually, everyday took every ounce of effort. But i went through it. Read a lot. Thought a lot. Explored, pushed, i went through the fire to get to the other side."
His words were traced by scribbles on the therapist's notepad. The sounds distracted Able, thoughts regarding the expenses of purging himself to a stranger polluted his mind. Guilt for choosing self care over spending the hour and dollars on his family poisoned his thoughts. Able took another breath, shook his head, cleared the doubt, and continued. "Now at this point, as i've been saying, it's more of a tool. i find myself more empathetic, more open. i know when the time comes to have the harder conversations with the kids, or anyone going through tough times, i'm up for it. i'm prepared to hear any woe. i've suffered from them, i can relate to those that need it. i've been gifted with so much perspective, because i live in darkness, it's easy to see the light."
As the words came out a familiar self conscious coat crept in. Able waited for some encouraging grunts from the little man, and pushed to continue. He reminded himself that he had nothing to lose, and everything to gain from this experience. That the worst thing he could do is hold back. "i don't know Doc, i don't know what to say. i'm working hard. Ever since i was a teenager i've been toying with the idea of Happily Ever After. What that could mean. How i could apply that to the now. Sort of a philosophical alchemy of perspective. Trying to learn how to turn any moment, any day to gold. Which you know, i can be successful at. And believe it- more than that, feel it."
Able shook his head and held up his hands out as if to grasp the abstract thought. "i find the moment," his eyes went up from his fingers, his eyebrows pleaded, " and yet i can't wait for the ending. And then i feel guilty, and the cycle starts over again. The thoughts come as they please, there's no rhyme or reason. Nothing's changed with the good things in my life. i mean, everything's changed with kids, and the love is abundant, there's no way i would ever leave, no way i would ever consider anything. But the thoughts, the feelings, the sadness can be so relentless. No part of my rational mind wants to miss a second of my life with them. That said, some part, just wants to rest. Rest and not rise. i think that's the problem. That the boulder, the weight of everything, just pulverises me. i've learned to appreciate the struggle, but sometimes, it's just so overwhelming. And i do all my tools, i'm trying everything. Keep exercising, working through philosophical thoughts, listening to cathartic music, listening to inspiring lectures, making music of my own. But i feel so guilty. Feel so guilty, and so weak because i can't stop feeling this way, and i know that i shouldn't. And you know, back to my thoughts on Happily Ever After, it still exists. Like as much as i feel the dark and the sad, i am right there, serene, grateful, euphoric. i feel both. i feel it all. i feel overwhelmed. It's exhausting."
More scratches from the pen answered Able, and he continued. "i was thinking of colours yesterday. My middle daughter, Emmanuella, was painting, she painted her entire canvas black. She was about to splatter different parts of the spectrum at random- she's doing some whole Pollack inspired thing right now, actually really good, anyways, - i was watching her. Watching the paint droplets plummet onto the black. And we're talking about it, what she was doing, why she was doing it, and she told me she was painting a mirror."
"And it made me think of beyond colour, the grayscale, think of the darkness, of black. That it's not the absence of light. It's all the light, all the light at once. So much light that we can't see it. It's all absorbed, it's blinding us to a point we perceive it as a void. That thought gave me comfort. i reflected on the darkness of my thoughts, there really is just a love of life. i become exhausted because i care so much, and i know through the darkness, it's led to all this work. i guess that's why we're still talking about it, because i'm still fighting and it's still a tool. It's shaded everything. It's outlined everything. For me, i can only see the good through the overwhelming bad, and at the end of the day, i still like it. i'm not numb anymore, just, as i said, tired. But, that exhaustion gives me strength, and if i had to choose, make no mistake, i would choose this. Sometimes i feel as if, or i like to pretend at least, that i'm catching these arrows for others. That when anyone else falls, or life is hammering, that i take the brunt. That when Magema is broken, that i can lift her out, because i've mapped through the darkness so well, because i know the light within it. i guess I'm grateful. i'm trying to be grateful. You know, it's a struggle, but, there's some comedy in it. There's a lot of humour and trying to lift myself up every day."
The pen sat quiet, and the therapist in waiting. "Well, that's certainly wonderful that you've arrived there, but you dodged my question." The therapist looked up and adjusted his glasses and focused on Able's eyes.
"Oh the adulation? i mean, yes, at times. It comes and goes in waves. No obvious patterns. i can experience a full existential crisis, riddled with anxiety on a beach during a stress free vacation. But its intrusive thoughts, not options, not obsessions. There's no danger, there's just sad sometimes. Which is ok. i feel it all, and that's a blessing. i'd rather be aware. As i've said, i've come to appreciate these feelings within me."
The words lulled, and in the vacuum both of their heads turned to the clock. "Well..." the therapist raised his eyebrows. They went through the formalities of how Able could book further appointments if he so chose to, payment structures and availability. The conversation was cordial, their pleasantries made their dance. They shook hands and Able stepped through the door knowing he wouldn't return, and that was fine.
There was something intangible that did not feel like the right fit, and he accepted that. While the doctor might not be able to help him forward on his journey, the consultation had been a welcomed mirror. Hearing himself share his stories, and thoughts reminded him of how far he'd come. Able felt proud. He looked down to his hands and stretched his fingers. It felt good to be him, good to be himself. There'd been bad days in the past, but stepping forward, towards his house, his family, and they're future felt great. He'd been reminded of the ease he could stroll up mountains no matter the weight on his back. Not because of the life he'd built, but because of the person he'd become.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write