A Quest For Happiness
A horridly familiar stench of over-roasted coffee and day old pastries engulfed the room. It was supposed to be a welcoming, even hopeful smell. But to her it provoked nothing but uneasiness.
Time after time she found herself in this type of place. Yet after all this time, she still couldn't quite admit to herself that as much as she loathed that stench and patronizing tone, she actually needed places such as this. Because in order to do that, she would first have to admit that she needed someone; someone to lean on, someone to be there for her. The only problem was, that's the one thing she could never admit to, never ask for. Because after all that's what got her into this mess in the first place. She had trusted someone to help her in her time of need and an atomic bomb had exploded within her heart. She wouldn't go through that again.
She never talked about it; not to her mother, not to her sister, not to her closest friends. So how could she talk to a complete stranger? Why did she end up at places like this? Why was she here? Then she remembered, just as she did every other time: she was sick of waking up on a tear stained pillow, sick of loosing it every time she heard his name, sick of him. It was this anguish that led her down the same path every time. Taking her to yet another room, in another place.
It looked and felt like all the others. From her seat she could see 12 folding chairs stemming out into a circular pattern around her. The walls on all four sides of her were lined with certificates of acknowledgement and paintings with forest scenes underneath their thin silver frames. A sleek desk stood undisturbed in the back-right hand corner. On it, lay a tray of business cards with the letters Dr. Emily Ivey, MD embossed in bold letters across the center, a series of notebooks and a square, black container holding only cheap BIC ball point pens that barely peaked up over the top. It felt sterol, much unlike her own closet of an office. As thoughts of cases, files and detectives slowly ticked in and out of her mind, so did the time. It would only be a few moments until the vacant seats around her would be filled and her most inner thoughts revealed.
A woman just about her age sat down right across from her. She looked to be about thirty-five and looked much like a red headed version of Olivia. But more than that, she looked worn. And she was not the only one; all of the women that sat down next to her looked the same way. She could feel her mind start to feel sorry for these women, until her mind suddenly connected with that lingering feeling in her gut. The one that forced her to admit what she never could: she felt exactly how they looked.
After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, Dr. Ivey walked into the now gossip filled room. Her presence was quickly felt by all and the room soon fell silent as she spoke.
"Welcome everyone. Its nice to see you all again."
"Hello," everyone replied some form or another.
"Ok. Since you all seem to have gotten to know each other, how about we get started," she paused for a brief moment, glanced up and continued, "why don't you start us off Casey."
She almost jumped out of her seat. The painful memories of her past swarmed up through her subconscious into her mind. She wanted the pain to stop, yet it was the harshness of the pain that held her back. It hurt so much to think, even to breathe. How could she possibly talk to people? Much less about him? But she needed to say something. The doctor had said her name. So incomprehensively, she spit out, "Me…I…no."
The brunette across from her urged Casey on. "Come on girl, we all know the story. We all lived it. Just spill." But Casey wouldn't budge. On the verge of shrieking, she replied, "No…it hurts…I can't."
Up until this point Dr. Ivey had been silent, waiting to see if the women could convince Casey to open up to the group. However, once she realized Casey was against talking, she intervened.
"Casey, I know you're afraid and that is perfectly normal given what you've been through, but-"
With the utterance of those words came the exploding of her previously dormant volcano mind, as steam started bursting out her ears. 'Who was with Ivy League educated, rich ass mamma's girl to tell me how to feel? She has no idea how much it hurts just to sit here; what an arrogant ass. Well enough with this thinking business. Get off your bony butt and tell her off.'
"You know! You know! You have no idea what I've been through. You can't relate. Period. You don't have the right to sit here and judge me. No matter how many degrees you have from H-a-a-vard you can't tell me how to feel."
When she finally finished, Casey had the nerve to chance a glance at the doctor. But surprisingly so the doctor had the same clinical expression she had before Casey began her outburst. It was almost as if this type of outburst was just an everyday occurrence in her practice. Just as Casey was considering this thought, Dr. Ivey began to reply to her outburst in a cool, yet gentle tone.
"You are absolutely right. I cannot relate to what you're going through, nor would I want to endure what you have. But my statement was not a judgment. It was simply meant to express the openness of this forum and that there is no need to be afraid here. Nothing will happen without you permission and ok. We go at your pace; it's all up to you."
Casey sighed. The doctor hit the crop right on the side of the horse. As much as it pained her to admit it, she needed to relive the hurt and heartache; it was the only way. Unfortunately for her, Mrs. Ivy League was right. She needed to talk. To feel safe again. Happy again.
So she began her long tale of abuse, " Our relationship was nonmagnetic from the beginning. The more I tried to reconcile and stick it out, the more he would repel me. And I mean that in the most literal sense. He would repel me into a wall, car, anything available. I used to think I deserved the beatings, like it was somehow my fault. Every time I burned the toast, or didn't have the dinner ready by exactly five o'clock, or even when he just had a horrible day at work the inevitable would happen. He would whip out a long, coarse leather belt with a buckle the size of Texas and begin to slash it across whatever area seemed appealing at the time. Sometimes it was just the top of my butt, other times it was much worse. While the slashing racked pain across my body, all I could think was, 'how could I possibly have gotten myself into this; I was a good kid. Everyone said I was an amazing child, that I was a special. I passed through the stages of development as if I were Ray Lewis blowing by the Texans o-line. I did really well in school and ended up at the University of Chicago. I was a college grad with the world at my feet. All I had to do was step.' But then I remembered it, that horrible day my life turned upside down. The day it prevented my right foot from inching just slightly in front of my left. After traversing through a four month battle to the melanoma consuming his white cell blood cells, he lost control over his body. My father died and I completely lost it." She paused. Her gaze was soon directed around the room but what she wanted and needed to see was lacking. As soon as deep green swept over a sea of blue and brown, she was pierced with pity filled laser gazes. And with every shot her heart was pieced through its center. Their pity physically racked pain across her body. She couldn't take it any longer; their comfortless gazes forced her to look down in hurt.
Salty drops of pain started to well in the crocks of her eyes as she angrily studied the non-judgmental palms below her. It took her a few moments to for the cages of her tear ducts to stop the flow of tears down her cheeks. All the while she was thinking to herself, 'How could I possibly have lost it in front of them? What an idiot! Now they think I'm some cry baby who can't manage to tell one lousy story. Wow. But her thoughts were soon interrupted by the voice of Dr. Ivey. "Casey, we do not have to discuss your father if you chose otherwise. Please continue whenever you are ready to do so." Slightly annoyed, yet grateful for the comment made by the doctor, Casey slowly pried her eyes away from the palms below her, took a few deep breaths and continued: " As I was saying before, well you know, when my father died all the stability I once had was ripped right out from under me; I couldn't stand, much less step. I needed comfort more than anything. I couldn't find it in my family or friends, so I went looking. And guess what? I ended up finding just what I needed: a warm chest to melt the ice that was my heart and a strong pair of arms to wisp me into the grasp of another world-a world where nothing mattered but my happiness. But I was naive in my thinking. The truth was I hadn't found what I longed for; I had only come across a charismatic ruse. The man I wanted was not the man I got. At the time, when I met him that is, I was too vulnerable to discern anything outside of the fact that he had two arms, two legs, and more warmth than a day in Arizona. But god, why didn't I notice it? Why couldn't I see that sadistic smirk in the depths of his eyes? If I had it would have saved a hell of a lot of heartbreak. I certainly would have avoided spilling my guts to a room full of abused women. And maybe, just maybe, I would be happy."