Therapy (29 page)

“I think what we do to ourselves mentally can really give our minds the power to enslave us. We need to learn to let our mind empower us, and stop letting it throw us into the depths of misery and regret. Lily let her mind take over and it took her life in the process. I just wish I could’ve prevented it,” he sighs.

He’s such a deep thinker. Everything he just said is so very true. I think the bigger picture here is that you can’t underestimate the pain in a person, because, in all honesty, everyone is struggling with something. Some people are just better at hiding it than others. But it’s so hard to stop your mind from going to those dark places when you’re lost in your depression and mental illness. That’s what he doesn’t understand. Until you’ve experienced depression, or a form of depression, you can’t ever really know how strongly it controls you.

“I know you’re angry at her and angry at yourself, but you have to let that anger go. It will poison you. I can tell you firsthand that Lily felt she had no other choice. I’ve been in that place so many times. It’s dark, it’s deep, and it has no sympathy for anyone. It’s like having a blanket draped over you, enveloping you in darkness and despair. It’s a black hole of pain and helplessness.” I’m not sure my words will bring him comfort, but he needs to hear them, to have some frame of reference to understand what she may have been going through.

“The weight of it, the excruciating pain of it is hard to even put into words. That’s why I cut myself. It is my only release. I know you can’t really understand it, but I promise you, Lily felt she had no other choice.”

I reach out and place my hand on his, looking at him with compassion.

“Her pain was so great that all she could do was seek out the one sliver of peace she knew—to no longer exist. That’s not yours to own. She was sick, and her sickness killed her. Just like a cancer patient is killed by cancer, Lily was killed by mental illness.”

He sighs as he tries to absorb the weight of my words.

“God, it’s so comforting hearing you explain all of this. I’ve always wished that I could see inside her mind and find out what would make her do something so terrible. I’ve felt responsible for her death this entire time,” he says, dropping his head into his hands.

“I know. You need to let it go. Let the guilt go because it wasn’t your fault. She loved you the best she knew how, and even though it’s hard to understand, she felt she was helping you by doing this. You’re not responsible for her death, Kingsley.” He may not believe it today, but I think he will in time. God, I hope he will.

He looks up at me, and his eyes are glossed over with impending tears.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for listening to me, for hearing me, and for helping me understand why she may have done it. I guess I just couldn’t fathom it because my mind has never worked that way. Even dealing with her death and all the pain that’s come with it, I’ve never gotten to a point where I felt I wanted to die.”

“I understand. I’d do anything to have a mind that automatically works like yours,” I tell him, smiling a little.

“Well, you have an answer, Jessica. That’s why you have to do the DBT and stay in therapy. You’re brave and your mind is a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re beautiful inside and out. Just let that shine, let it grow, believe in it and see where that takes you. You’ve got this, Jessica. You just have to,” he says, and I sense that his words are both a statement and plea.

He pulls me into him and I lay my head on his shoulder. I don’t say anything because I know he’s right. I know what I have to do, but knowing and doing are two very different things. The doing is the hard part.

“There are seeds of self-destruction in all of us that will bear only unhappiness if allowed to grow.”

—Dorothy Brande

FLIPPING THROUGH MY mail this morning, I find a letter from the clinic. I open it and read the letter saying that I’ve been reassigned to a new psychiatrist, Dr. Janice. Looks like I have my first appointment with the new doc next week. The next envelope is big and heavy and seems to be made out of a fancy paper. There’s no return address, just a big silver
J & V
sticker stuck on the closure. Instantly, my head spins. It’s a wedding invitation—I know it is. I quickly rip it open, revealing an intricate but elegant invitation. Silver calligraphy scrolled across the vellum overlay accents the lavender background. Stunning and classy.

It’s everything that I’m not.

I can’t keep reading it. My eyes are blurry with tears and my stomach is whirling with nausea. Pain and regret flood every inch of my heart. I want it to go away, to stop.

I head straight for my room and yank open my bedside table drawer. My hands nervously fumble with the box, my box of freedom. Light funnels through my window and reflects off the blade as my heart rate kicks up. I need this relief, the relief that only exists when I cut. The shiny, cold metal gripped between my fingertips feels like an anesthetic ready to relieve the pain that hides inside me. Burning sensations sting as the blade penetrates the surface of my skin.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The deeper I go, the heavier my breathing grows. Blood oozes out in a crimson line and the high I’m so desperate for finally soars through my body. This is mine, all mine, and I’m in control. I control the length of the cut, the depth, and the level of pain. I etch the proof of my misery on my skin while trying to destroy the agony that festers within.

I click on Jace’s Facebook page and scroll down and down. I click on every picture of them, torturing myself. Every photo looks so contrived, so fake. This is not him, not the Jace that I know. He’s fooling himself. I click on Victoria’s name and scroll through her timeline. She’s the epitome of everything that I despise, so prim and proper. Looking at her life makes me want to puke. Her “About Me” section reads like a who’s who of the field she’s in. I come across a photo of her and Jace with him wearing a cap and gown; it’s his Baylor graduation. I look at it for a long time. That’s what I walked away for, so he could have that day. He had the day I gave him with her. I abruptly close my laptop, knocking over my glass of whiskey as I do. It’s only noon and I’m three glasses into my bottle of Jim Beam.

Fuck it, I don’t care.

I just don’t give a shit anymore. My life is what it is. No sense in trying to stop the inevitable. I don’t have to work tonight, so I’m going out. I need to let loose and stop wallowing in jealously and bitterness.

Fuck Jace Collins.

I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.

I walk into Rookies Sports Bar wearing my tightest, most revealing dress. My sleek red dress accented by my thick black hair turns heads every time. Dark red lipstick accentuates my full lips and I’m ready to put them to good use tonight—anything to keep me from thinking about Jace. I’ve been drinking on and off since this morning. It won’t take much to get me feeling good tonight.

Kingsley has been texting me all day, but I haven’t responded. I can’t. He’s too good for me. Plus, the guy won’t even have sex with me. How could he possibly be interested in me and not want more? I just can’t buy into that no-sex-because-I-care shit. Men do not operate that way. They just don’t. I find a spot at the bar and slide onto the barstool.

“Hey, Jessica, what will it be tonight?” Kevin the bartender asks. I’ve been working here for a short time, but it’s my night off. Rookies is where I was the night of my drunken car accident.

“Hmmm, 151, I think, Kev. Hit me with the hard stuff and keep it coming.” He arches his brows and gives me an “oh shit” look.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson a while back, woman? You’re gonna find yourself in more trouble if you’re not careful.” I watch him pour the drink and contemplate his words, but only briefly.

“I’m not driving. I’m being a good girl. I took a cab.” He slides the shot glass toward me and I throw it back quickly. I love the burn as it rolls down my throat and the warmth that spreads throughout my insides from the alcohol. It’s another high, another form of numbing my shit hole of a reality.

“All right, doll, just be sure to take a cab back home too.”

“Will do, Kev. Now hit me again.”

I’ve had too many shots and too little food tonight. I’m wasted and not feeling a damn thing. It’s bliss.

“Jessica?” I hear a familiar voice say. I turn my head in a rather slow drunken motion, enough to glance over my shoulder and bring Jace’s face into focus. I twist my body toward him on the barstool and let out a huge laugh. I have no idea why, but it just barrels right out of my mouth. He stares at me, roving his eyes up and down my body with an obviously displeased look on his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the former all-star quarterback of Jenson High School, the Baylor graduate, and soon-to-be-married Jace Collins! How fucking lucky are we here in this bar to be graced with your presence?” My voice gets louder and louder with every word. “Hey everyone,” I shout, “this is Jace, he’s my ex-boyfriend. I just fucked him recently, right before his lovely doctor wife showed up while his cum was still inside of me. Let’s all have a round on Jace. He’s fucking rich, he can afford it!” I raise my glass and laugh as he fumes with anger. I see his fists clenching at his side and I really don’t give a flying fuck how mad he is.

“What the hell are you doing, Jess? You’re drunk. I’m taking you home.” I can’t stop laughing. Tears form in the corners of my eyes, I’m laughing so hard.

“Sure, Jace. Like hell I’m going home with you! How did you even know I was here? You know what I got today? Never mind, don’t try to think about it, I’ll tell you. I got your beauuuuutiful wedding invitation.” I gesture with my glass, spilling some of the liquid on the floor before taking a gulp and continuing. “How sweet of you to invite your dirty little secret to your special day.”

“Shit!” He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head back and forth. “Damn, I’m sorry. I don’t know why she did that. Just let me take you home. You’re drunk and dressed like a streetwalker; it’s not safe for you here.”

“Ha! Not safe? Streetwalker?” I laugh again. “You didn’t answer my question, Jace. How did you know I was here? Maybe it’s not safe for me to be with
you
.” I mock, purposely looking to piss him off. That’s just the kind of mood I’m in tonight.

He huffs before answering. “I went by your place and you weren’t home, so I thought I’d try your work. I’m glad I stopped by, Jess. You really need to go home.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you. She’s coming with me, so back the hell up.” I lean to the side and see a very big Kingsley in his signature beanie with more scruff than usual. He extends his hand to me, “Jessica, come on. Let’s get you out of here. My bike is out front.”

God, do I have a GPS up my ass that these two are connected to?

Jace looks at me, then Kingsley, and then me again. “Is this who you’re with now? You’ve got to be kidding me, Jess.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Yes, matter of fact, this is who I’m with. Is that a problem? What is it? He’s not preppy enough, clean-cut enough, or cookie-fucking-cutter enough for you? Look at him. Go ahead and take a long, hard look because this is what a man looks like! Plus, you have no right to question who I’m with or not with. You’re getting married soon. Go home, Jace, go fuck your fiancé doctor bitch.” I slap money down on the bar. “I’m outta here, Kev. See you next time.” I stumble down from the barstool, trying to keep balanced on my black, high heels. Not easy after too many 151 shots.

“Here, take my hand. You need to get home and sleep this off.” Kingsley takes my hand and guides me closely into his side, wrapping his arm protectively around my waist and helping me walk. I look over at Jace and give him the nastiest snarky smile that I can muster.