Take My Hand, Just Hold On

It was Wednesday afternoon and I was getting ready to leave work for my first – and probably only – therapy session. Tom had a “top secret” meeting with one of his regular clients that I wasn’t even allowed to sit in on, so I was able to take off early.

I gathered up the last of my stuff into my bag and waved to him through the window in his office. He flashed a smile and raised his hand briefly in way of saying goodbye.

I’d decided to leave my car parked in the office lot as the therapist’s office was only a 10 minute walk away; or so said Google maps. It’d take me longer to find a parking space downtown, and I only had 15 minutes before my appointment.

As I stepped out of the building my phone started playing a familiar tune. “Hello, Robert,” I answer.

“Hey. You on your way now?” He asks.

“I am,” I respond shortly.

“Alright, cool. I was just wondering if I could drop by tonight? I haven’t seen you since Sunday.”

I hesitate before answering, “Not tonight, Robert. I have a feeling I will be all talked-out after today. And probably not in the mood for company.”

I hear him sigh heavily on the other end, “Oh, okay. Sure.”

“How about tomorrow night?” I ask him, feeling a little bad for telling him no.

“Can’t tomorrow, Brian is having a small party I’ve already said I’d go to,” he says sadly. “Although, you can come with me if you want?”

“I don’t think I’m the best person to be around at a party, Robert. I think I’d bring everyone down with me.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Brenna. You seem a lot better than when I first came back and that was only days ago.”

The truth is, I wasn’t any better. I was trying to feel better, but I wasn’t succeeding. I did seem to be successful in convincing Robert I was better, which was another goal. So I wasn’t going to crush him by just telling him I still felt like my life was absolutely worthless. “Yeah, maybe I am better. But I still don’t want to spend time with a bunch of people I don’t know, Robert.”

“Okay, fine. Then Friday?”

I nod as I respond, “Sure. I’m just getting to the therapist’s building right now, so I should probably go. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay, sure. Let me know how it goes.”

“Sure, see you,” I say as I hang up and walk into the small office building.

I take a quick glance around the reception area: Three chairs, a coffee table with a few magazines spread out, two doors leading into what I assumed were offices, and of course the reception desk. I walk up to the woman sitting behind it and say, “Er, hi. I have an appointment for 3:30… Brenna.”

She smiles at me and nods as she looks toward her computer, “Yes, I have you right here. Dr. Heller will be out in just a couple minutes, if you’d like to take a seat.”

I give her a curt nod and take a seat on the nearest chair. God, I can’t imagine how awkward it would be if there were other people in the waiting area. I’d just be imagining what they were in here for, and they me… Oh well, at least it’s just me right now.

No more than a minute later a tall woman comes out of the office on the left and makes her way to me, “Brenna?” she inquires, smiling at me in a friendly manner.

I take a stab at smiling back at her and fail fairly miserably, “Yeah, that’s me. And you must be Dr. Heller?” I ask as I stand up to follow her back into her office.

I see her nod in front of me as we step through the doorway and she closes the door, “I am. You can call me Joan, if you prefer.”

I shrug as I look around her office, wondering where I should sit. There’s a couch and two plush chairs, as well as the chair behind her desk. She seems to have read my expression and takes a seat in one of the chairs, “Sit wherever you like.”

I sit on the remaining chair and curl my legs up, waiting quietly for her to start her thing as I stare at the floor. However, she stays silent, and after a minute I break it, “So… How does this go?”

“Well, I’m not sure. How do you want it to go?”

I shrug, “I don’t know… I’ve never been to therapy before. Isn’t there a way that it’s supposed to flow?”

“It’s different with everyone. Although, in your case I’ve got a bit more information than I’d usually have at this point. Tom filled me in briefly on why you’re here,” she replies.

I breathe a heavy sigh as I run my hands through my hair, leaving them clinging to the back of my head. Okay, I’ll dive right in: “So, you know I was raped, then. And I guess I’m here because I can’t live with it,” I tell her honestly, still directing my eyes to the floor.

“What does that mean – you can’t live with it?” She questions after a short pause.

“Exactly how it sounds, I assume. I don’t know why it’s affecting me so harshly, and I know that I shouldn’t be feeling worthless, but I do.”

“What makes you think you shouldn’t be feeling like this? It’s a fairly common feeling among rape victims,” she tells me in a steady voice.

I bite on my tongue for a while, wondering if I should say what I’ve been thinking for ages. I guess if there’s a place to say it, it’s here. “I just think there are worse ways this could have gone down. I mean, there are people in worse conditions who have way more horrible things happen to them and they’re fighting, they’re not giving up. I mean, even my rape was lackluster compared to most. I knew the guy who did it, I was dating him for god’s sake!” I tell her, moving subtly around my point. “To say it outright, I just don’t feel like I deserve to be feeling the way I do. Like he hardly took anything from me, and it’s something I should be able to move on from with relative ease,” I finish. God, it’s nice to get that off my chest.

When she’s silent for more than a few seconds I have to look up at her to make sure she even heard me. She’s looking at me with her mouth slightly ajar and a sad look on her face. Once she notices me looking at her she sits up straighter and apologizes, “I’m so sorry, I just… You caught me a little off-guard. We’re still in the first 5 minutes of our first session. That’s usually something that gets coaxed out much later on.”

I shrug, “I don’t plan on coming back for more sessions, so I figured it’d be best to jump in. I’m just here as a favour to a friend. And to Tom, I suppose.”

“Well, I hope I can change your mind. As to what you just told me, you have every right to feel robbed, Brenna. No matter the circumstances, you were raped. Someone else took control of your body without your permission, and that is much more than a little serious.”

There was a lack of assent in her statements that caused me pause. Most of what she said I had expected to come from anyone’s mouth that I may have told, but I’d also expected some sort of slight, however much unintended, agreement with me. And, so, I was thinking. Thinking that maybe I was allowed to be feeling this way, maybe this was how I was supposed to be feeling? Just the thought made me feel slightly better; it made me feel like maybe I wasn’t just being “emo” about it all.

I blew out a long breath and met my therapists eyes as she looked at me intently, waiting for some sort of response. All I could manage past the lump in my throat was a small, single, nod. This seemed to be enough for her, as she smiled at me and began asking me a few more questions.

By the end of the session, I’d told her a little bit more about the night it happened, going home and how I felt when I was leaving. And then how I felt the complete opposite when I got back here. All-in-all it was a load better than I was expecting. She didn’t keep asking me how things made me feel, and she wasn’t taking notes the whole time. And she wrote me a prescription for some sleeping pills, though they won’t make me stop dreaming, so I doubt they will be much help considering I don’t want to sleep if I’m going to relive my rape. I’ll try them; maybe they’ll make my dreams less specific.

“Can I put you down for an appointment next week?” she asks as we both get up from our seated position.

I bite the inside of my lip, thinking about it. “Yeah, why not?”