A:PART

CHAPTET 2: That's A Story For Tomorrow

I wanted to bash his face

There was an empty bottle of alcohol on the table in front of me and I was halfway through the second. One sip, then another. Maybe a few more as well. I couldn't stop. I was pissed. No, I was fuming. I needed to calm down. My breathing was shallow and hitched all the time as if I had forgotten how to breathe like a normal human being. Sitting down with my best friend here, my sweet, sweet whiskey and bourbon, helped me. Consuming alcohol helped me with resentment. It had an effect on me like gulping a chilled drink after a cricket match on a sunny day. The problem was the addiction towards the same. If I had an issue, or something that was stressing me out, sipping down a gulp of alcohol was always my first instinct if not acting out of wrath.

I narrated all of it to my Psychologist, Dr Myra Bonic. I realised that my anger and adoration towards alcohol were getting out of hand. The wise part of me chose to see my psychologist for the second time. I hoped her to be non-judgemental and hear me as I pour my heart out. I never knew how much I needed to be heard. And my psychologist was an excellent listener. She looked at me curiously and reacted to everything I was saying with nods and 'hm's.

''Mr Smith, I would want to hear what made you so angry that you felt the need to drink two bottles of bourbon and one of a whiskey?'' she asked me calmly. Myra also had a writing pad on her lap in which she wrote God knows what at everything I was reciting.

I sighed and looked at my hands intertwined on my jeans. This time, taking Nona's advice, I came here in an informal attire. Which was a dull red long sleeves t-shirt and blue jeans. After a moment I raised my eyes and spoke:

''I lost a deal,''

''with?'' she raised her fairly thick eyebrows.

''A client. It was a few many million-dollar deal from the US. My employees fu-messed up. I figured taking my anger out on them wouldn't do well. Mistakes happen. So, I seized at the other option; alcohol,'' I finished coldly.

Myra was writing on her pad again and only looked up when I was done talking. She nodded, put the pen's cap back on the tip, and stood up putting her hands on the desk. She was also wearing a white clinical coat and a name badge on the side of her chest. She pointed at the sofa on our right.

I was momentarily confused.

''Lay down on the sofa,'' she said lowly. She smiled softly at my hesitation. ''Don't worry. It's just to make our session more relaxing,''

When I first visited, I was curious as to what was the sofa's job here. My question was soon to be answered. So, I got up in a not so very excited pace and headed towards the sofa and awkwardly sat on it. There was no back to the sofa where one could rest their back on. There was an arm at one end to rest the head.

''Lay down, Mr Smith,'' Myra muttered, she was back to writing in her book attached to the small pad. Is she observing my behaviour? I thought uneasily and laid down on the sofa with my head on the arm of it.

''Close your eyes,'' I was instructed.

Then, Myra dragged her chair beside my head for herself. She started teaching me a breathing technique. According to her, my anger could be controlled without needing alcohol which I thought was bullshit. But I followed her instructions anyway. Myra introduced me to five different strategies which I had to use whenever I felt like I was losing my cool. It was quite simple. I had to tell myself and the person before me that I am getting angry. Then ask myself to cool down and believe that it can happen. Then proceed with finding my soft spot and obtain its help to calm down.

''If you're okay with it, could you tell me about any love interests in your life?''

I gulped. Love interest? That's one complicated topic.