She Came In Through The Bathroom Window

Recovery

"Whether you decide to talk or not is your choice, Michelle," Dr. Evans, my therapist, told me.

Therapy was my sister's idea after the miscarriage. She didn't suggest it right away however. She waited until I began sleeping through the days and sobbing through the nights. I opposed the whole idea, but Josie insisted on scheduling an appointment. She agreed that if I didn't progress after a few sessions, I could end it.

Even though she had forced me into this situation, I was still deeply grateful for everything she had done for me. She had kept my secret from our mother, even encouraging her to stay a few extra days at Aunt Carol's in London. Then there were all the nights she spent caring for me and holding me as I cried. I suppose I owed it to her to attend this therapy session.

"I feel . . ." I cleared my throat. "Empty," I finished looking down at the tiled floor.

"Mmhmm," Dr. Evans hummed telling me to continue. I hated how he did that instead of actually talking to me. He should've been conversing with me instead of simply sitting there and barely listening to me.

"Like I've lost something. But part of my says that I never had it so I couldn't lose it."

"Mmhmm." I wiped away the tear that had managed to escape my eye. This is why I didn't want to attend therapy. Emotions were too difficult for me to cope with; the only thing I could do was bury them so far down inside me that I would never have to deal with them. Yet, just talking about what I felt in the simplest of words forced those emotions up to the surface. Good thing Dr. Evans was too busy scribbling away on his clipboard to notice my tear.

The next 45 minutes consisted of me blurting out fragments of sentences that only made sense to me. It helped somewhat, but mostly caused me exhaustion. I waited outside in the car while Josie spoke with my doctor about my session. He was probably creating some fake dialogue between us and recommending more pills for me to take. I didn't care though. At least the therapy would give Josie some peace of mind.

"Here's your prescription," my sister said opening the car door.

"Thanks."

"So how was it?" Josie started the car.

"Fine." I turned my attention to the window.

"Really? The doctor said you were a bit quiet."

"Are you sure he wasn't talking about himself?" I muttered under my breath as I opened the bottle of pills and popped two in my mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing." I closed my eyes and swallowed the capsules. Leaning back, I tried to relax my muscles and enjoy the silence. Josie however wanted to continue talking.

"So . . ." she paused.

"What?" I kept my eyes closed.