Session Seven

I don't want to be here, and I do my best to convey that through the way I'm sitting. My eyes are locked on the bookshelf, I'm slouched, resting my head on my left hand, elbow on the mahogany arm of the chair, feet tapping. I want no part in this anymore. I haven't spoken to Emma since last week at the elevator, and I blame Dr. Lopez. I blame these sessions. I blame myself.

"Well, Mark..." She begins. I fight the urge to mock her tone. "Seems you're in quite the hole, here. Quite the predicament."

"No thanks to you." I don't think about saying it, it just happens. Dr. Lopez's eyes widen and she sighs.

"Why is that my fault?"

"Because, you told her to say all of those things, you made her give you all of that information."

"And you stayed to hear it." She points out. "You could have stormed out, left, and been none the wiser. But you chose to stay and you suffered the consequences. You got to hear what you were too scared to let her say."

"I wasn't scared to hear her say it. I never silenced her." I correct, still lazily slumped in my chair.

"That's not what she told me. She said that whenever the two of you begin to talk about something serious you change the subject, you avoid it, or you find an excuse to leave. That, in my opinion, is your way of silencing her."

"How do you know what my intentions are, how do you know whether I want to silence her, or I if I avoid it because I don't want to hurt her by not thinking the same way?"

"I don't know that. Only you do." She leans back in her seat and looks me over. "So what is it? Is it too big for you or is it out of the question?"

"I don't know. I don't want to think about that right now." I shake my head as she makes some notes on her paper.

"Well, Mark. You've just shown yourself your biggest problem. Avoidance."

"What, because I don't want to think about how I've ruined a perfectly good friendship?"

"Yes. Because you push things down. You're agonizing over this, aren't you?"

I shrug my response.

"How did you sleep last night, Mark? As a matter of fact...how do you sleep in general?" She moves forward and poises her pen. I wince.

"I don't sleep...really. When I do, it's only for a few hours." She nods and makes a few marks.

"Insomnia is a sign of a troubled mind. It's a sickness to an extent; the direct result of your own inability to express yourself and come to terms with yourself in the waking hours. So, your head races while you try to sleep and you end up analyzing your actions during the day. What was wrong about them, what you could have done, said differently."

She sounds so technical, so scientific, but somehow I understand her. It applies to me, sure. But I won't tell her that. Apparently, my silence speaks volumes.

"You're three more sessions away from your requirement, Mark. Either we deal with this now, or this was all a waste of your time and money."

I inhale and sit up.

"What do you want me to do, Dr. Lopez? What should I do here? Do you want me to start telling you things? I have. Do you want me to start reacting? I am. What more can I do?"

"You can start doing things out of the office. You can start approaching your family and working things out with them, you can start listening to Emma and telling her the truth about how you feel. You can start talking to your friend Roger about things not always being your fault..."

I groan and lean back in my seat, slouching again.

"I don't want to have to tear things down and rebuild them. I want to just...start fresh."

"They'll have questions, Mark. If you start fresh, you won't have any answers."

I shake my head and fold my arms.

"You make things so complicated." I inform her.

"I've heard worse things from patients."

I nod. "I believe you. I know I'm not the worse case you've seen in here."

"You're right. But you're one of the most stubborn."
"Thanks." I smile a little. She nods. There's an awkward, uncomfortable silence. "I'm fake, aren't I?"

She stops dead in her writing and looks up. "What was that?"

I inhale. "I'm fake. From what Emma said...from what I know. From what I've seen in other people that I considered fake."

"Explain to me..." She implores quietly. Gently.

"She was right. I put on faces. I've got a whole bunch. The happy Mark, the caring Mark, the angry Mark, the upset Mark. I put them on when appropriate. None of them are me. They're just...various things that I've seen on other people."

"Why do you use them?"

"They're easy."

"Do people get to know you for real at all?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so."

"Why don't you start letting them?"

"What if they don't like what they see?" I ask with a shrug. "What if they don't like the real? What am I supposed to do then?"

She doesn't have an answer for that one, and I chalk it up as a victory.

"So that's me, Dr. Lopez. One big phony. Someone who has no idea about self-identity. I couldn't write or film anything biographical because I don't know. I don't know what I am. Who I am. Who my friends are.

"Why is that, Mark? Why don't you know?" She asks.

"Because I don't exist."

The words echo. They knock in my head. I repeat them to myself over and over. I believe them.

"Of course you exist, Mark."

I shake my head. "No. I'm a name and number on a social security card. I'm another face. There's nothing I have that no one else has. I don't know who I am. I don't know who my friends are, because none of them know me." I pause and look up at her. She's listening intently to my every word. That unnerves me.

"I can assure you that you exist. If there was no hope, I wouldn't be wasting time here. I would have turned you over to a psychiatrist."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because what you have, drugs can't fix."

I let out a dry laugh. "That's comforting."

"It should be. You don't need to alter any chemicals in your head. You're not 'crazy', as you put it." She looks at me and nods. "You just need to talk. Maybe there are some things you can't say to me, but you need to say them to someone. Someone you trust."

I nod in agreement. "I know."

"Then start."

"I'll try."

"That's a big step in finishing this, Mark. Talking." I sigh and run my hands over the arms of the chair.

"I know."

"Can you take it? Or are you saying you will so I'll let you off the hook?"

"I need to do it sooner or later. Why not start now?"

Dr. Lopez nods, closing her eyes. She doesn't believe me fully, and I don't either, but it's a start. Right?

"Have you seen Emma since last week?"

"Nope." I shrug. "She hasn't called, I haven't seen her around the building..."

"Do you think she's avoiding you?"

"Probably."

She's silent again and I look up at her expectantly. "Maybe you should call her...find some way of communicating with her..."

I shake my head at her. "No. Not right now. I don't think that idea will fly with her. Maybe when my ten sessions are up. Maybe when I'm normal."
Dr. Lopez laughs at this. I snap my head up at her. "What?"

"Nothing, Mark. Nothing."