What We Deserve

Part 16: R.I.P

It all seemed so simple.

In theory, I suppose.

I kick him out.

He gets help.

He comes back.

I know that's not necessarily a five minute task or anything- but I also wasn't expecting him to actually follow what I demanded, because when has Max ever actually listened to me.

But I haven't seen him in about a week and honestly...though I'm not surprised- I'm beyond pained by this.

The first three days of his absence, I was simply left to sleep and stare at the ceiling. By day four and five, I found the room to become even more dreary.

And at day six and seven- I was praying for my entire existence just to be wiped from this planet.

Kapoor and Agnes visited me at least once every hour to check in and see if I was okay.

They had halted all visitations from anyone who wasn't my designated nurse, due to me whipping a pillow at Kapoor when he suggested I align my chakras for the eighteenth time.

As Kapoor had stated to the others when I was sleeping- aggression is certainly the most likely outcome for the time being.

And I honestly can't help it.

It is a part of the recovery process unfortunately and controlling it, is not always easy- or even possible, I've been finding.

Before I can even think- sometimes my anger just shoots out of me and unfortunately for my friends- it's almost always directed at them.

They're understanding, knowing the facts behind post traumatic recovery processes- but still, I feel horrible and always apologize.

"Helen, good morning!" Dr. Linda Kramer comes into the room and smiles widely at me. She is one of my numerous therapists and this is only our second time working together.

The first time was not so well.

"I need you to pick up the cup and take a drink. Like this." She demonstrates and it makes me feel like a child.

I know how to drink out of a cup.

I'm not a toddler.

Picking up the cup with attitude, I go to bring it to my mouth, and I miss completely.

Soaking my hospital gown and bed linens.

"That's alright. You did a good job."

Without even thinking, I chuck the cup and it hit her right in the forehead.

The nurses at the station outside my room heard it and came running in to find Linda holding her forehead and me fuming.

"That was a very good throw, Helen. Well done. I'm proud of you." Linda says without an ounce of frustration or resentment. I immediately calm down and start trying to apologize through moans and hand symbols.

It was not my proudest moment, but she understands- like many physicians- that this is a process that is unavoidable and frustrating.

"Are you feeling well today?" She asks and I shake my head no. "No? What's wrong?"

Shaking my head some more, I look away and she sighs before coming over.

"I don't want you to think I'm treating you like a child- but I brought playdoh—because—it is very good for hands and stretching them out. I also have silly putty with items in it. Which would you like first?"