A Year of Novembers

Chapter Thirteen

James begins having fits of anger towards the end of June. Generally, he will direct his anger at me, presumably because I am the most available target. It happens consistently during our appointments, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to him yelling at me, at being so angry with me that he just walks out.

            I try to take it and absorb the impact, but I can’t help the little shudder that goes through the room whenever he switches gears into verbal assaults, and I wait and wait and wait for the room to crack, but it never does.

            It gets to the point where I have to emotionally prep myself for some kind of battering, either in the form of his disease worsening or in the form of him hating me.

            His disease is my disease. Every ounce of pain he feels multiplies itself in the fault lines between us, and I get the effects of the shockwaves as well. I want to split myself, I want to self- destruct, but I tell myself every time to stay strong, to let it roll off of me, but oh, my God, it doesn’t roll off of me. It burns me, it scrapes me up and tears me into little pieces, but I have to keep a straight face. I have to be okay, because I’m not allowed to hurt.

            God, I want to be the one who is excused and adored and needed. Instead, I need him and excuse him and have to try to understand his rage. I have to let myself be trampled.

            On the third Thursday of June, he enters, and I have not prepared myself for the onslaught that he brings with him.

            He is the brilliant James, but he is the cold, harsh James that could not care less about me, and I am already tired of his yelling before he opens his mouth.

            “You should really consider cancelling our appointments,” James says, taking a seat.

            “You know I can’t do that,” I answer, barely maintaining a calm demeanor.

            “Or you won’t. You just like seeing me depressed and upset and ruined, don’t you? You’re sadistic.”

            I almost want to drop my jaw at how ridiculous his accusation is, but I can’t bring myself to be that surprised at this point. “It’s silly to suggest such a thing.”

            “Oh, I’m definitely seeing how fantastic a therapist you are now,” he sneers. “You can’t even help one of your patients in the slightest.”

            I can’t help myself from shattering my calm façade. “You know what? I am tired of you treating me like this, James. This isn’t time to use me as a punching bag. I am your friend, I am your therapist, but more than anything I am a human being, and I won’t stand to be walked all over! Don’t you dare try and tell me that I’m bad at what I do, because guess what? I’m trying. That’s more than you can say for yourself- you’re just giving up and giving in and hurting everyone. I’m here to be your friend, and I care for you a great deal, so don’t pretend you’re the only one affected by this.” I’m crying now, barely breathing between my words, but I am so tired and so hurt that I just continue, the poison words falling off of my tongue like lead.

            “This is so hard on me, and it breaks me to see you hurt. Did you hear me? It is ruining me to see you this way. You’re damaged and I’m damaged, but the difference is that I’m trying to fix both of us.”

            He is sitting there, silent, stunned, and just staring at me.

            “I know I’m enough,” I sob, and I notice in the back of my mind that this is only the second time James has seen me cry.