Clarke

Two Weeks Later

I stared at the name plate hanging outside the office of the psychiatrist I was about to see for a long moment. Fearing what was behind that door. I had walked back to the elevator nearly a dozen times and a dozen times I returned to stare at it. My thoughts were a jumble of doubts and what ifs, making my palms sweaty. I rubbed my right hand on the leg of my jeans in an attempt to rid it of the slickness. My heart was pounding and my breathing quick and all because I was afraid of what was behind that door.

It wasn't the receptionist or the psychiatrist that I feared. It was what was locked in my mind that I was afraid of the most. Answers. Answers that I wasn't really sure that I wanted to know. The reason why I kept coming back to this door again and again was because the night before last, I had nearly done something that would have torn me apart. In a dream induced panic, I had nearly killed Bellamy.

I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths to try and quell the fear that had my insides in knots. When I opened my eyes again, I reached out and opened the door. I walked inside, feeling jittery and unsure, and made my way through the empty waiting room to the receptionist desk.

When I neared, the woman behind the desk looked up at me with a faltering smile. I didn't know why that smile faltered, but it only increased my fear and anxiety.

"How may I help you, Miss," the woman asked, her voice pitched to appear calm.

"I, um, have a three o'clock appointment with Dr. Ashe," I said, quietly. "My name's Clarke Griffin."

She eyes flickered to the computer screen in front of her and she clicked on a few things before she looked back at me.

"Yes, Ms. Griffin, I have you right here," she said and then held out a tablet. "If you could please fill out these forms while you wait, I'll let her know you're here."

I took the tablet and nodded. I turned around and searched the waiting area, looking for someplace to sit. I found a seat that gave me a view of the entire room and at the same time, kept anyone from sneaking up on me. I don't know why I did that, but it made me feel safer.

I looked down at the tablet and pulled out the stylus. I debated how I was going to fill it out, but decided on taking the sling off so that I could write more comfortably. The more I filled out the forms, the more uncomfortable I became. The more boxes I checked off, the fear of hospitalization grew. I was experiencing a lot of things and I had to keep myself from going back and unchecking those boxes, but I didn't because I kept seeing Bellamy's face growing slack from lack of oxygen.

I felt like I had aged twenty years when I was finally done. I carefully inserted the stylus back into place, put the sling back on and walked back over to the receptionist's desk. Silently, I handed it over to her and went abruptly back to my seat. I pulled out my phone, opening up my email and my finger hovered over the icon to write an email to my fan. I had wanted to write to her so many times in the last two weeks, but I stopped myself each time. I was worried that if I told her what I was going through, what I'd been doing, she'd block me and then I would have no one outside my small circle of friends to talk to.

I was even keeping my distance from Janice. I had gone to Rosie's a couple of times after I'd gotten back from the hospital and I knew that she liked me and I liked her. But then, I started to get worse and I forced myself to keep my distance. I didn't want there to be a chance that I would hurt her, even though it seemed that only straight men were giving me problems. I couldn't take that chance, so I avoided going there and seeing her. In all actuality, I'd hadn't left the house for the last week. I'd holed up in my bedroom the entire time, isolating myself from everyone. It was even hard for me to leave the house to come here and I didn't know how many times I pulled over to the side of the road fighting off a panic attack.

I sighed, putting my phone back into my pocket, leaned back and closed my eyes. I was nearly asleep when a woman stepped out of a door that must lead to other offices. She approached me and I eyed her warily, sitting up.

She stopped a few feet in front of me and said, "Ms. Griffin, I'm Dr. Niylah Ashe. If you're ready, we can head back to my office."

I stared at her for a moment and then I nodded, standing up slowly. She gave me a comforting smile and with an arm gesture, ushered me before her. When the door shut behind her, I flinched a little at the sound, but kept going.

"It's the last door on the left," she said.

I looked and saw the office she was talking about. I entered and stood off to the side to let her in. She closed the door softly and walked over to her desk. She grabbed a tablet of her own and sat in a chair. I hesitated a moment and then sat on the couch. I looked down at my hands, not really wanting to meet her eyes.

"Ms. Griffin," she said, soothingly, "is it alright if I call you Clarke?"

I swallowed, still keeping my head down and nodded, and replied, "Sure. That's fine."

"Thank you, Clarke. Now, I've skimmed over your intake form and it appears that you seem to be going through a lot right now. Could you maybe tell me what prompted you to place an appointment with me?"

I looked up at her and then quickly back down to my hands, sighing, and said, "Um, nearly three months ago, something happened. I don't remember what, though. Since I've moved outside of Eden, I've started to have nightmares. The kind of nightmares where I wake up screaming. It takes me hours to calm down and then one of my friends usually stays with me the rest of the night. It's the only way I get any sleep. It's only gotten worse since then."

"Could you tell me what happened," she asked, still speaking in a soothing manner.

"That's just it," I said, looking at her with tears in my eyes, "I don't remember. The only thing that I remember is that my boyfriend took me to the mill pond for our four year anniversary. I remember that I was dreading it and that I was trying not to lose my temper with him. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital three weeks later, my shoulder and head heavily bandaged, and a cage over my head to keep me from moving it."

"Why didn't you want to go?"

I sighed and then said, "I knew he was going to propose that night and our relationship should have never happened or gone on for four years, but it did. I didn't love him. We fought constantly."

"Why did you stay with him for so long if all of that was going on," she asked sincerely.

I took a deep breath and looking her in the eyes, I said, "I felt like I didn't have a choice. The town that I grew up in likes to maintain a certain image. If I had to describe it, I would say to think of any town prior to 1920 America or even before the women's movement in the 1970s."

"You're speaking about spousal abuse, aren't you," she asked, leaning back in her chair.

"Yes and the mind view that women are supposed to be submissive," I said rather dully. "The only reason why I'm here talking to you is because whatever happened to me, killed him."

"Do you feel safer now?"

"Yes and no," I admitted. "I know that he can never hurt me again, which is a relief. At the same time, his death still hangs over me because, I'm alive and he's not. I got a lot of shit from the townspeople since he was the mayor's son. There were whispers that I had killed him or that I got someone to kill him. So, I left and had to leave my mother and friends behind. Well, except for my closest friends. They've all moved with me and we live together."

"I see," she said and laid a hand gently on my knee. "What is it that you hope to gain out of our sessions?"

I looked her right in the eye and replied, "Answers. I feel like I need to know what happened so that I can move past it, because right now, it feels like it's destroying a life I haven't even started yet. Dr. Ashe, I paint landscapes for a living. I'm talented enough that my paintings are sometimes in the six-figure range. Now, every time I try to sketch a landscape, the mill pond shows up. I haven't picked up a pen, pencil, brush in weeks because I'm afraid of what will show up. I like one of my friends and want to be with him, but I can't because every time he comes near me, I have to fight the urge to flinch or move away. I get nauseated when I look at Italian food. I can't drink beer from a bottle. My mood has been all over the place. One minute, I'll be fine and, like flipping a switch, the next I'm angry or depressed or aggressive. I want to get better. I need to get better."

"You do realize that it could take years to overcome the trauma you experienced."

I nodded, "I understand, but I want to start really making that effort. I know I need outside help. Not doing anything, is making it worse. I'm afraid that if I let it be, I may end up doing something so terrible that it will completely destroy me. That I'll reach a point that I can't turn away from."

"What is it that you need from me right now?"

"I don't know," I replied, my leg bouncing up and down in anxiety. "Maybe something to help keep my moods more balanced."

"That flipping the switch you described is similar to what is known as Bipolar Disorder, which is treatable with medication. Along with continuing our sessions and possibly a support group. A place where people who have had similar experiences can share their feelings among people that won't judge. If I were to diagnose you right now, I'd say that you are suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. What's happening right now is your mind's way of dealing with it as a result at trying to remember what happened."

"That makes sense," I replied. "It's what I figured."

She nodded, "So, what I'm going to do for you today is prescribe a mood stabilizer. It should help your mood swings, or hypomanic or manic episodes."

"Hypomanic? Manic?"

"Both of those terms describe an increase of either a feeling of euphoria or irritability, thoughts zooming around in your head, speaking more rapidly, sometimes feeling a lack of need to sleep, and an inability to stay still or focused. Manic episodes usually make it nearly impossible for a person to function normally, while hypomania doesn't."

"Okay, and you said that a mood stabilizer can help gain some control over these episodes?"

"Yes. Now, I must tell you that once you start the medication, you may feel some side effects. It's different for each person. You may feel nausea or have tremors. Normally, the side effects will go away after a few weeks. If they persist, we'll try something else and keep doing so, until you feel that it's working. It usually takes about two weeks before it starts to work. After about three weeks, the symptoms should subside and after six weeks, the depressive symptoms will lessen."

"I'm willing to give it a try, Dr. Ashe," I said after giving it some thought. "It's better than doing nothing."

"I would also like you to continue drawing."

I blanched and said, "Why would I want to do that? I'm terrified of doing that."

"You're terrified because you feel that you may not be ready to face what happened. Many times, I recommend my patients to start writing in a journal. Write about what they're thinking, feeling, dreams that they may have experienced. It helps release that stress and anxiety that comes with trying to keep it contained. Putting it on paper allows them to reflect back and more often than not, you can start seeing patterns. Triggers. Knowing those things, you can start to recognize, or catch, the beginning of the cause and then start working on changing the behavior that usually occurs. Since you seem more comfortable with drawing and painting, use that to put what your experiencing down."

"I guess," I replied trepidatiously.

"I'll take that," she said, smiling. "Now, let me just get that prescription written out for you. I'd like to meet with you once a week."

"Once a week," I repeated, swallowing down the fear of having to talk about it that frequently.

"Yes. Talking to a responsive ear helps. Just like drawing or writing can. You get it out in the open and you can look deeper into what prompted a feeling or a reaction. This helps in everyday life, as well. Helps relieve stress so that you don't become overwhelmed."

I sighed, "Alright."

"Good. If you could go back out to the waiting room, I'll have that prescription written for you and you can set up the next appointment with the receptionist."

I nodded and we both stood. I thanked her and left her office. I set up my next appointment and waited for my prescription. When I had both, I left and headed back home. Dreading my arrival because I knew that everyone would want to know what she said and did. I wasn't sure that I wanted to face that so soon.