"It has been a while," he responded calmly as he entered my room.
"Yes, I suppose it has been." I always hated his sassy remarks.
"Do you think it has been enough?"
"It will never be enough, I know that for a fact, but do I have a choice? No, I do not." What do you care anyway.
"Perhaps not, but you do not have to fight this alone." Really laying it thick there, T.
"No, I know that now. If I hadn't been too focused on what was lost instead of focusing on what I had left, perhaps that would have made a difference--on how things were handled." I only wish I would have warned her.
"Yes, I believe so. How does that make you feel?" I hate that question.
"How does that make me feel? I hate that question. Always sounds so condescending. So inappropriate."
"Well, my intent is for it not to sound that way. Apologies if it does."
"Not necessary. You here to ask me something else?" Why I let him loose, perhaps?
"I am here to help."
"Ah. I see."
Help me or himself, that is?
One: Denial and Isolation
I believe the hardest part begins with accepting that what has happened is real, and that nothing is going to change it from happening, or in some twisted fairy-tale way change it for the better. No. This is why you isolate. You want to be left alone; not to be reminded constantly of what had just happened. You get lost in this isolation; you lose perception of the good things left in your life. You push them away.
I am no stranger to anger; in fact, one could say Anger and I are best friends. Always have been. Perhaps it is my temper that I inherited from my parents, I do not know. The combination of fire and brimstone raining down on everyone around me is the most beautiful painted ever created inside my head. Or at least, I know someone who would particularly enjoy that. Yes, we're close. The thing about anger, however, is that it clouds your judgement, it makes you see red, and when you see red, everything else starts to fade away. You get lost in the anger; and then the anger overtakes you. You're visually impaired and everyone who dares get in your way is only going to end up offended because the other thing about anger is that it prompts your inner rage to explode in ways you are not prepared for. Sooner than later everything that comes out of your mouth is something you wish would stay buried. Anger is my best friend. Always has been. I even gave it a name. Stuck it in a cage and left it there until it was needed.
You wish you could change the past, as any other rational human being would in this situation. I mean, why wouldn't you? If you could, you'd do it the moment you knew you could. Let's face it, you've seen enough time travel movies, it never ends well. But you'd do it anyway. Bargaining is like staring at yourself in the mirror in your room, wishing the other side of the mirror was another timeline or world you could bargain your way into; a better one, a happier one. Except the person you're looking at is yourself, and nothing has changed. So you're stuck in there bargaining against your reflection, like playing a game of poker you'll definitely end up losing. But you are going to bargain anyway. Try as hard as you can to change the outcome. An escape that leads to nowhere.
I've known people who are depressed, get depressed, and those who are just sad. There is a huge difference in how depression affects an individual. I use to think Depression was my friend as well, gave it a name and gave it a job. To hang around reading books in the library in case I needed it again. A lifesaver that kept floating in the sea of my mind. A buoy lost at sea, that is. What's worse than that is the fact that I would allow it to run amok whenever I needed an escape. I always thought perhaps letting it all out would make me happy.
Most people can agree that when you reach stage five you are finally freed; most people are a bunch of blabbering idiots. That just as soon would pair up in the same room and category as the shrinks that gather around people like me and tell stories about how great it is to accept something that you know deep in your heart you will never be able to accept. I hate those kinds of people. Always with grins in their face and a bottle of pills in their aprons. Might as well take a rain-check for next session and go to sleep. If only.
I talk about True Acceptance. Really going deep in that brain of yours and seeing the light change from red to green. Congratulations. You've finally accepted. You win. It's over. But no, of course not. It cannot be over; accepting it happened is like erasing all the good memories behind it. No, my kind of acceptance is the one that I carry with me forever. Locked in a room around the halls of my brain, but locked with a key only I possess. In case I need to let it out again. That kind of Acceptance is more like Carelessness; but not Denial.