I sank back onto the couch, trying to make sense of what just happened. Alex left me. Alex left me. Alex left me. Tears rushed to my eyes, because I still didn't understand why. What had I done wrong?
The next day at work, Alex ignored me as much as she could. She kept her head down as she scurried around, trying to avoid me. The guys must have noticed something was up, but miraculously, they didn't say a word.
After work, I went to see my therapist again. We had weekly sessions now and she had diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder, and she was trying to help me deal with it. Apparently, PTSD sometimes caused dissociative states, which was what happened when I had those memories – flashbacks. And it was frightening to suddenly wake up and not remember what you just did and how you got where you were. Losing time, blacking out – all symptoms of dissociation, but terrifying all the same.
I sat in the waiting room of Dr. Ellis' office, one leg crossed over the other, my hands folded in my lap. I was dreading this, because I was going to have to tell Dr. Ellis about Alex – that she'd left me and I didn't know why.
Dr. Ellis invited me in and I sat down on the couch across from her, trying to keep my face blank. If she didn't ask about Alex, I would feel justified in not telling her. And if she didn't think I was nervous, she might not ask.
No such luck. "So, how's Alex doing?" she asked.
I sighed and looked at the ground. I didn't answer.
"Olivia?" Dr. Ellis prompted.
"She left me," I muttered. To my horror, tears were rushing to my eyes, and I furiously blinked them back.
"Why?"
She didn't even sound surprised. I knew that was the cool, distant professional façade; I put up the same one at work and so did Alex. Alex. But it still hurt.
I buried my head in my hands. "I don't know. She told me – she told me I was hurting her. She had bruises on her arms – she said I hurt her. But I would never, ever do such a thing! I love her! I would never hurt her." I angrily swiped a hand across my eyes, trying to remove all remnants of my tears.
"Why do you think she thought that?" asked Dr. Ellis gently.
I almost screamed in frustration. "I don't know!"
"Are you sure you didn't –"
"No! Of course not!" I cried in indignation. "I would never do that! Ever! Not to my Alex. I love her."
"You didn't let me finish," she said quietly. "You told me you've been blanking out a lot –"
"Dissociating," I interrupted dryly.
She put a hand up. "What happens during these periods of dissociation?"
I considered, then it occurred to me. I covered my face with my hands. "Oh, my God. I get – all I can see – memories," I managed. "Of being – abused – by my mother's boyfriend. Am I – could I – did I hurt her? Am I re-enacting what happened to me?" Tears rushed to my eyes when I realized how feasible that was. "Oh, my God. I hurt her. I hurt the woman I love. She must hate me. No, she must be terrified of me. Oh, my God. I hit her. I beat her. I – I – I forced myself on her. I couldn't – wouldn't – never – oh, my God, Alex! I can't believe –"
"Olivia," interrupted Dr. Ellis gently. "Did you tell Alex about the dissociation like I told you to?"
I hung my head in shame. "No."
"Then of course she doesn't understand, and she's going to be confused and hurt, physically and emotionally. She knows and you know and I know that you're nothing like your mother's boyfriend, and yet you were doing to her – however subconsciously – what he did to you. Did you ever tell her about what he did to you?"
I shook my head. "I couldn't. I didn't – I didn't want to worry her."
"Well, now you have a problem."
"So what do you suggest?" I asked bitterly. "Should I apologize and kiss and make up?"
"No," she said slowly. "You need to learn to deal with this before foisting it on Alex again, because she won't be able to handle it. It isn't your fault, but it also isn't fair to put her in that situation."
I coughed to mask the choked up quality of my voice. "How can I face her, Dr. Ellis? The woman I love. I hurt her so badly. I know how she feels and it must be even worse for her because it's me. How can I deal with . . . work and warrants and everything she does for us? She's afraid of me. She's afraid of me. She's scared I'm going to hurt her again. And the worst thing is, I might. And I don't know how not to."
She sighed. "Talk to Alex. If she doesn't want to talk to you, that's her right, and don't push her. If she's uncomfortable, let it go, and wait until she's ready. Then explain it to her and tell her you're sorry. Say you're not going to ask for anything and you don't expect anything at all, but you're getting help. And when you're better – and you will get better – maybe she'll want to try again. She loves you, Olivia, and you love her. It may take time, but it will get better. Time heals. And in the meantime, I'll teach you some coping strategies. It'll take time, Olivia, but you can heal."
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