Anu
Angst and nervousness form knots in my stomach. I can't seem to sit still, constantly shaking my leg as I wait in the quiet waiting room. A single tick from the mahogany wall-clock causes me to twitch every second. Swallowing, I look up to the ceiling, weary of the two other women sitting across from me reading their respective lifestyle magazines.
Clutching the base of my neck, I pace my breathing by biting down on my lips. Distraction! Find a distraction. Shakily my hand moves for the thick vogue issue on the coffee table. Flipping through the glossy pages, the images and articles just blur, and I'm engulfed in a despairing feeling. I can't focus, I can't speak.
Breathe. I have to remind myself why I'm here. This is for me and no one else.
"Anuksha Arora," the receptionist, a frail girl with thick blonde hair tied in a ponytail, calls out from behind her desk. "Dr. Crawford is ready for you," Rising to my feet, slowly so I don't faint, I slide the magazine back onto the table. Taking cautious steps to the hardwood door, I grip the cold silver handle feeling hopeful yet distraught at what I'm going to hear in that office.
"Please have a seat Anuksha," soft yet so dignified, Dr. Crawford a slim woman with short brown hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind simple black-framed glasses, invites me into a brightly lit room.
White curtains are parted to let generous light in from the tall bay windows. Small succulent plants in quirkily painted pots of abstract shapes and lines, comical faces and glitter designs are sporadically placed around the room.
Smoothing out the front of my dress, I place my palms against the smooth velvety sofa cushions tapping my fingers against the thickly bound threads holding the fabric of the seat together. Licking my dry lips, I swallow trying to rid the dry parchedness of my throat.
"Can I offer you some water? Coffee or tea perhaps?" she asks kindly from her place at a mini bar while stirring an aromatic tea.
"Water is fine, thank you," hoarsely mumbling, I smile tight-lipped shifting my attention back to the tiny plant pot painted in a dark forest green with gold glitter designs around the sides. Despite speaking to Dr. Crawford over the phone and the sense of familiarity between us, I still find it difficult to open up in person.
"My daughter, she paints any and everything. I have these and a million other art projects around my house," smiling fondly she spins the pot against the table causing flakes of gold dust to fall onto the polished wooden surface.
I find myself smiling thinking of a home filled with ceramic works of art in every shape and form one can think of and the child-like imagination behind each delicate piece of art. "They're too precious," I whisper unable to find my voice despite the burning in my throat being gone.
"Do you have children?" cautious but with intent she leans back in her chair, resting her elbows on the armrest and sipping her tea. The blue of her eyes darkening over the rim of the yellow cup as she assesses me keenly.
"No, I don't. Maybe in the future though,"
"We always think there's a rush to do everything before our thirties that we spend the best years of our lives rushing to get fixed that we forget we're still growing and changing and that we can still make mistakes and not know what we want to do with our lives yet,"
"It's a lot of pressure for sure. I thought I had my whole life figured out and now I'm just so unhappy...with everything," I catch a glimpse of the tall tree outside the window watching as a bird flies through the branches.
"What is it exactly that makes you unhappy?"
Scuffing, I shake my head, catching my lip between my teeth "For starters my career. For the longest, while I had such a passion for clothing and haute couture yet here I am today, and I find it dreadful and unimpressive. It's funny how it turned out exactly the way I imagined yet I'm unfulfilled with designing and running the brand,"
"Often times we expect a climatic explosion when we reach the top only to realize there's a whole other top to reach for now. Or people change and so do their interests and passions,"
"No...it's not that. I can't tell you the last time I felt good, just plain good. Nothing makes me react positively anymore. I'm always angry, and if I'm not keeping busy I worry myself into a panic. Do you know what it's like to not want to do something but to have to do something?"
"Worst feeling in the world," staring into her tea mug, she sighs empathetically. "Can you remember when you started going through this?"
I nod, the words trapped in my chest as it begins to tighten. "My boyfriend at the time was diagnosed with a rare disease and I-uh didn't get to see him at his last...he didn't want me there. Fast forward to the present and he miraculously recovered and has been alive for all this time that I thought he..."
"Do you attribute these 'feelings' with him and what he did?"
"Sometimes thinking of him is like a trigger but the only way to recollect myself is when I reminisce on our relationship. I just don't know why I'm like this there are people going through much worse that are dealing hell of a lot better than I am,"
"You've always had control over your life and your choices, right?"
"I would like to think so, yes,"
"Control is stability, it's knowing what's to come and how to deal with it. You lost that control and so did your boyfriend when he was diagnosed. Neither of you had a plan for that or knew of a way to handle a situation of that magnitude," resting her mug on the coffee table she leans forward, slipping off her glasses and resting it on top of a leather notebook.
"I'm assuming after he refused to see you when he thought it was his last moments, it was a hard blow to you. That's not rejection so you can't be angry but it's the way he loved you and that made you rethink everything of your life up to that moment. Everything seems meaningless compared to that,"
Confused I twist my head in thought, gaping as she speaks. "Perplexing, I know. You channeled these emotions that are fighting each other from different ends of the spectrum into him because in your whole controlled life, he was the one person that actually made the most sense to you and you lost that when you lost him,"
"How fucking weak and spineless am I?" falling into the sofa, I slide down the back slouching into the softness of the dark blue velvet.
"You're not, because despite it all you're still here. Depression and anxiety are tough battles to fight, especially when you think there's no way out. Someone simply saying, 'oh just be happy' is not the case," pulling open a drawer on the side of the table she slides a green leather bounds journal across the table.
"I know from our phone session you're taking medication on-and-off, but there are organic methods to help. Therapy, exercise, and sport, setting goals, getting into something new, meeting new people, learning to love again. It's not going to happen overnight, but small steps lead to a big victory," placing her hand over the journal, she lightly squeezes my wrist "Write when you can't speak, scribble or draw it'll help you understand your emotions better and we can further decide on your plan for treatment,"
Cloaked by twenty-five sprawling sycamore trees, the hustle-bustle of the city is hushed by the sycamore's thick green foliage and towering branches. Gusts of wind blow in from the east river wafting through the trees causing some leaves to fly off, landing on the ground. A black chain-link fence and a small walkway are all that separates me from the murky flowing waters of the river.
Combing my fingers through my open hair, I push the pesky strands away from my face as I sit on the aged wooden bench between two trees. Seldomly a few people will straggle by, headed down John Finley Walk that cuts right through the tiny hidden park. Eagerly, my eyes scan the bodies, a tickling anxiousness buzzing through me to see that one person.
Banking around the turn that leads into the park, he's dressed in a black long sleeve compression shirt and gym shorts. It's like clockwork. Every day he runs the same mile and a half path from his penthouse down to the park and back. Steady, even breaths that match the rapid lift and fall of his feet against the ground blow out his mouth. Sweat leaks down his forehead down the side of his face dripping onto his equally sweaty shoulder and back.
When he catches a glimpse of me sitting on the bench his face pace comes to halt. Pulling the black cap off his head he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Patting the space on the bench beside me, I stare him down with intent.
He visibly swallows as he walks up to the bench, clearing his throat as he sits back resting one arm on the iron handle and the other outstretched on the back of the bench. I can't help but admire him. Those beautiful slenderly muscular arms, his proud strapping chest, powerfully defined thighs and legs and of course the smoothly defined ripples of his stomach.
"Water?" holding the bottle over the space the between us, I have to urge him to take it. Nodding he unscrews the cap gulping it all down to the bottom.
"Thanks," he mumbles, sliding the reusable bottle back over to me.
Here goes nothing.
"Look...I forgive you," twisting his head, he gapes at me, astonished and confused. "I understand, now, that your actions came from a good place. The way you loved me-"
"Love, I still love you and that's never going to change, ever,"
"The way you love me is unlike any other person can. But I also love you, Sidharth and I gave you everything of myself and in the end, it still wasn't enough,"
"That's not true," gently but with a definite force, he holds my hand as if to jolt the words back.
"I am strong, and I can handle whatever life throws at me. I tried day in and day out to prove that to you, but you never believed me. Nothing I did was ever enough to prove to you that I could handle your disease,"
"It was never...never about your strength or ability it was me being cowardly and not wanting you to see me broken and fragile,"
"You let your ego destroy both of us and in doing so I lost the most precious thing I had. I lost my trust in you and my respect for you and love cannot exist without either,"
"I'm letting go of you, Sidharth. I'm letting go of all the doubt, the fight, the pain...everything. What once was can never be again," I slide my hand out of his grasp, standing firmly on the concrete walkway.
"Anuksha, do you think we can ever have a future together?" shrunken shoulders, pouted lips and creased brows appear in front of me and I feel it hit hard against my chest.
"I-I don't know,"