Mood music

You Say – Lauren Daigle, The Few Things – Charlotte Lawrence & J.P. Saxe, What's Good – Fenne Lily, Scared to Be Lonely (Acoustic Version) – Martin Garrix & Dua Lipa, I Was Made For Loving You – Madilyn Bailey, Can't Stop – Madilyn Bailey, Someone You Loved – Lewis Calpaldi

Chapter Eleven


When something is festering in your memory or your imagination, laws of silence don't work, it's just like shutting a door and locking it on a house on fire in hope of forgetting that the house is burning. But not facing a fire doesn't put it out. Silence about a thing just magnifies it. It grows and festers in silence, becomes malignant... ― Tennessee Williams


Molly was unsure whether she was feeling a sense of relief or reluctance as she parked her car around the corner from Dr Sinclair's–a.k.a. Dr Daddy-issues– office. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit it was a mix of both. Submitting to counselling had never come easily to Molly, and it had been a relief when their move to Birmingham had present a sensible excuse to stop. New start, new Molly, had been her mantra. Of course, it had been a bit of an emotional smoke screen; her attempt at wishing something into being.

Ending the counselling had been Molly telling herself that she was fixed, the same way she had tried to tell herself that the memories of them together would fade, blur and soften like old fashioned sepia toned photos, so she could say they were behind her and in the past. They hadn't, of course, and instead remaining sharp and clear. With Georgie's recent input they were like cracked edge on a sheet of glass–they hurt when touched.

Jackie's lecture about denial being a big river had made an impact on Molly, even though she'd never admitted it to Jackie on the grounds that she would never hear the end of it. In fact, Jackie and Rebecca's combined, but very different voices, had brought her here today. Back to a place she'd hoped she never see again but very much needed to be regardless of reluctance or nerves. Avoiding things had worked for a year but she'd brought Charles back into her own life by turning up at his house. The rules and situation had changed; she needed to change with them.

The office with the big squashy chair was the same. Molly couldn't be sure, but the fish in the tank might have been different. Didn't matter, though, they still gave her the willies with the way they swam around and around in fruitless circles with their weird glassy eyes staring and staring.

Dr Sinclair greeted Molly pleasantly: professionally polite smile, generic opening question. It was all so familiar.

"How have you been since our last meeting, Molly?"

Molly sat in the chair and told herself she was only going to talk about the recurring nightmares. She'd forgotten about the power of Elizabeth Sinclair's careful and patient 'I'm listening' expression and her way of leaving a silence to hang just long enough to make Molly rush to fill it, sending herself down conversation paths she preferred to dodge.

It had all come out. Georgie, the note, and the nightmares. Charles being suddenly back in her life. Issue after issue tumbling from her mouth in an avalanche of words as Molly confessed to her messed up personal life.

Consulting the hand-written notes in front of her, Elizabeth looked up and observed Molly nervously fidgeting with the hem of her jumper.

"When we last met you were feeling positive about a fresh start and closing the door, so to speak, on your relationship. You talked about moving forwards, perhaps progressing with the formalities of divorce proceedings."

That conversation had happened. Molly had a very clear memory of leaving the office sure of her future path–speaking to a lawyer, moving things forward. None of it happened. Initially she told herself life was just getting in the way. To be fair she had been busy: house move, University work and ward work, returning to duties during the holidays. Life got busy and she dodged the subject willingly. Denial, denial, denial again.

"I told myself I was ready, but when it came to it, I couldn't do it. I want to move on but it's me that's struggling to take that step."

"Do you have any ideas why you're struggling, to use your word, to progress things?"

"No, I wish I did. We both agreed to call an end to things. Then I found out he'd slept with her almost straight after… and it hurt. Leaving and starting again seemed like the only thing to do."

Molly was trying to be detached and unemotional about it all. Enough time had passed that she felt she should be over it, but talking about it again was making her eyes and throat sting with unshed tears and she admitted to herself that she was anything but over it.

"I mean, I know I'd sort of gave him permission to move on but it still felt like he'd rejected me first with him texting her before all that. Like it wasn't a mutual decision because he'd not left me any choice. It was painful–knowing he replaced me so easily. I have plenty of reasons why I should want to finish things finally.

"Then Georgie comes back and tells me it wasn't the way I'd imagined it being between them. They never were a couple, just a one-time thing. Then Charles… and I'm not even sure I was in my right nut, going to his house, but suddenly he's back telling me he loves me, always did, and wants to try again… I don't know how to start processing that…"

"We talked before about how your husband's PTSD could have contributed to him having an emotional affair. PTSD can lead to suffers being unable to feel compassion, love, happy, sad or any other emotion. They struggle have an emotional closeness to family members and spouses. That lack of connection can lead to them to searching for a connection in any way possible to feel something with anyone and it usually doesn't end up with a connection to another person, except physically."

"I understand the reasons. Know the theories. Understood how it might have happened. Even back then I knew the thinking behind PTSD and its effects. But it wasn't just him was it? I told him stuff like he needed to get help or leave. I put those thoughts in his head, didn't I?"

"I don't think it's that simple. You didn't invite PTSD into your marriage and it wasn't just your husband suffering with it. You had to deal with your husband suffering it and the effects of that on you."

"I told him I was having doubts about us having a future together. That he needed to leave me."

"Why? Why did you need him to leave you?"

"All he seemed to have was this apathy towards everything. It smothered everything. Underneath that he was drowning'. Work was the only thing that seemed to matter. I loved him… I couldn't leave him when he was struggling like that but he was pulling me under with him. I was trying to survive. I needed something…anything to change."

"Hearing him say he wanted to try again, how did that make you feel?"

"Angry, defensive. Keeping him–them– at a distance felt … I don't know–safer– because I wouldn't have to hear about their happy ever after, if you see what I mean. Hearing that they didn't get together feels sort of worst. I'm not even sure I understand why but I'm doubt myself all over again. Questioning my decisions. The nightmares are just the icing on the bleedin' cake."

"That how you felt when you thought they were a couple. How do you feel now? On the surface of things, he's done what you asked him to do, got help, managed to heal himself. Those feelings that were missing are back."

"I don't' know. Frustrated maybe? It's like I'm back at the beginning again with no progress made. All the changes I made meant nothin' because nothin' moved on or got fixed. I've got stuck in the middle of it all and I've only just realised because I'm an idiot."

"You have a history of male role models in your life who have been unreliable or emotionally unsafe for you. I think you're being unfair on yourself for criticising the choices you made when you needed to makes choices at a time of emotional turmoil."

Molly just about managed to stop her instinctive eye roll at Elizabeth's poke at the issue of Dave Dawes and his fathering short falls. It was a subject that came up often in previous sessions and had been Jackie's reason for coining the nickname Dr Daddy-issues.

As ever, it got her back up, being labelled as poor Molly with the crap dad and all the baggage and limitations that entailed. She had worked really hard to get around and an out of all that. Molly Dawes from the bursting at the seams council house and her childish choices and dramatics was long gone and she resented any suggestions to the contrary.

"Maybe, but I'm also right, aren't I? I haven't been able to move forwards. I'm stuck. So, I'm doing something wrong somewhere."

"Let me rephrase the question. When things between you are your husband were good, how did the relationship make you feel."

Molly considered the question carefully. It was a complicate thing to quantify because when they'd been good together, the connection they had meant everything. Putting the depth and breadth of that into word was difficult.

"Safe?"

"And when it went wrong?"

"Like grief, like I'd lost something the same when somebody dies because I couldn't us back. I'm not sure I'm explaining it properly. Out of control maybe?"

That same patient smile had been able to give Molly to confidence to talk when words seemed like to hardest thing in the world to find was now, unfairly, making Molly irritated because it seemed to suggest that Elizabeth had answers that Molly was incapable of grasping.

"Let me clarify me terms. You're a Medic–"

"I'm a student nurse." Molly corrected sharply, almost snappily, surprising herself with the vehemence of her tone.

Blinking too fast and flushing with embarrassment, Molly rushed to apologise, kicking herself inwardly for revealing more than she meant, because in Molly's head Molly the Medic and Molly the Nurse were too very different people and was not a subject she wanted to explore. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped."

"It's fine, Molly. You're a nurse who has also treated wounds in the field in your previous role. How would you treat a wound? Say a laceration?"

"Cover it, apply pressure."

"Exactly. You take steps to stop the bleeding and provide protection. The mind reacts to emotional trauma very much as you would physically protect a wound. You experienced an emotionally bruising event with the problems in your marriage you protected yourself by withdrawing to find stability and an emotional safe space.

"That's protected the wound. Healing it is about letting it be treated. Uncovering the cut, as it were, to apply stitches for example. Healing an emotional wound is likely to mean talking about it now that you've given yourself some distance and found some emotional stability. Getting some understanding of what having your husband back in your life means.

"You keep using the term 'stuck'. Replace stuck with healing, and do you see what I'm saying?"

"You're saying I need to speak to him to move forward."

"Yes. At some point but I'm asking you first how having Charles back in your life, saying he loves you and wants to try again, makes you feel."

Molly didn't have to struggle to find the words, they came easily: unstable, out of control, panicked. She chose to vocalise the one word the incapsulated all of those feelings.

"Unsafe."

"Good, that's the place to start then. You need to have some sort of conversation with yourself, me or someone you are close to work through why you feel unsafe, then you will be in a better place from which to progress."

"Isn't that what we're doing here?"

"Of course, if you feel it's helping, we should continue and I have an exercise to suggest that I think might help. Have you ever kept a diary?"

"I lived in a house with six siblings, privacy was something you had to fight for. Writing feelings down in a book would have been permission for piss taking if anyone get a hold of it."

"It doesn't have to be a diary. Some people find it helpful to write diary entries or letters to themselves or other stakeholders involved in a turbulent time in their lives. I'm not suggesting anyone but you ever reads it, but it might help you organise your thoughts around the subject as a starting point."

"A can write anything I like?"

"Yes. It could be as simple as jotting down some memories or lines from past conversations. Or writing a letter. It doesn't matter if you ever send it. Think of it as an exercise in self-reflection more than anything else. It's up to you how you carry it out."

ooOOoo

Two days passed with Molly turning the idea of writing things down around in her head and then rejecting the suggestion as nonsense, while she got on with getting on with things.

Dr Sinclair all suggested that Molly start to track the nightmares with a view to them trying imagery rehearsal therapy. Having done this before after the car accident, she was willing to try again as it had produced some mixed, but mostly positive effects before. It was certainly better, in her mind, than going down a pharmaceutical route. So, she diligently wrote down the necessary details about the nightmares, and told herself that meant she was sort of trying out what Dr Sinclair had suggested. Sort of…

ooOOoo

The flowers were beginning to vex Molly more and more because they were a sweet-scented reminder of what she kept thinking about, but wanted to ignore. She supposed that had been part of Charles' plan when he first sent them. Just like the bank cards and house keys. All were meant to be a reminder that he was a presence in her life again.

Jackie observed Molly's growing frustration and agitated dance of avoidance with the flowers with loving amusement as Molly shifted them to different places in the house on an almost daily basis. The vase of golden yellow and orange hybrid tea roses started in the living room, then were shifted in rapid succession from Livingroom to kitchen, kitchen to hall, hall to bathroom.

When the placement of them in their very tiny bathroom meant that Jackie was having to apply her makeup from behind a floral display to see the rooms only mirror, she returned them to living room with a statement that as amusing as the 'war of the roses' was to observe, she needed to be able to apply her makeup in the morning without a face full of petals, thank you very much.

It just reminded Molly that she was annoyed with herself all over again because of her indecisiveness. She prided herself on being a decisive sort of person. It was how she'd reacted when she left. Problem, reaction, action, done. Now she was coming to the see quite how much she'd been lying to herself with that belief. It had actually been more like: problem, reaction, run and hide and keep on fucking hiding.

The rose's return to the living room was a big stinking reminder of that. Their delivery to the bin along with her posting the keys and bank cards back to Charles in Guildford was a step forward in Molly's mind. The pang of guilt that she couldn't explain when she tipped potato peelings on top of the still fresh blooms in the bin was harder to wish away. Moving them to the wheelie bin didn't help any either.

When Jackie caught her moodily starting at the empty vase. She rolled her eyes pointedly, then offered to setup a Spotify play list on the subject of denial for Molly.

Molly's uncharacteristically ill-tempered response to Jackie's well-meaning if a little clumsy banter, had caused Matt to suggest to his girlfriend that she may be needed to back off of Molly a bit and that it was perhaps a good thing that they were visiting his parents this weekend so Molly could have a bit of space.

Jackie wasn't convinced but when Molly said sorry the next day for being a 'moody mare' she accepted the apology willingly but found herself biting her tongue to leave the wider subject of why Molly was being moody alone.

ooOOoo

Friday rolled around, and Molly returned from the hospital to an empty house and a new bunch of flowers. Freesias this time and a personal favourite which had featured in her wedding flowers. Picking up the carefully wrapped bouquet, she found a heart-sinkingly familiar padded envelope on the door step and a note from Brains.


Dear Molls

Not that I mind driving up and down the M40 delivery stuff to you from Bossman, because there are worst ways to spend a Friday afternoon (consolidation the Quarter Master's store invoices for Officer Cadets' trainers – sounds thrilling, am I right?) but it would be nice to know the best time to visit so I can actually see you.

I'm guessing this is going to be a thing for a while, so give me a bell and let me know when you're going to be home next Friday and we'll arrange to have a brew.

Brains, xx

P.S. Mansfield and the rest know I've been back in contact. They're threaten to setup a Facebook Group and Twitter accounts called 'Where's Molly' if you don't get back in contact with them soon. You have been warned. Trust me, nobody wants to deal with Mansfield and Fingers being let loose on Social Media. No one.


The flowers went in the vase, the envelope containing the keys and bank cards went bank into Molly's bedside cabinet and she spent her evening meal alone staring at a bunch of Freesias while eating pasta, drinking wine and contemplating what, for Brains, had likely been a very throw away remark about the likelihood of him repeatedly visiting at Charles' request. She came to a simple, honest conclusion. Charles wasn't going to let this go, she knew that. It wasn't in his nature and hiding from it wasn't going to help anything.

ooOOoo

Cross legged in bed later with her laptop open on her knee Molly opened a blank email. Chewing on her lip she typed: -


From: Molly_James

To: GLane .org

Subject: You & Him

I need to know how it started. I don't want apologies or excuses, just the facts. I need to understand why.

Molly.


Then clicked send before she had a chance to change her mind.


Note: imagery reversal therapy (IRT) is an actual thing. It's a cognitive behavioural approach to help reduce and alleviate intense nightmares.