More than the decrease…A Walk in Darkness….

The small white office where I recount my past makes my head hurt. White light glares off the white paint and my eyes hurt from the interior of this small room. “The government should be able to afford a better paint job!” I detest therapy. The lithe Native American lady sitting across from me notices my pain, her dark eyes never miss anything it seems. “Tell me about your week, Freeman. How are things going?” I want to lash out in anger and bitterness, instead I smile. “Things are fine Joy; everything is as it should be.” The #2 pencil she holds in her right-hand jots down a note on her notebook. She smiles and I can see she isn’t buying what I am selling.
“Do you always deflect, Freeman? Why are you so angry?”

“Who’s angry Joy? What do you mean deflect?”

Joy continues to smile; her dark eyes never move from mine. “You are being difficult. Every question I ask, you ask one in return. You never answer. Tell me what makes you angry.”

“People make my head hurt. I can’t abide stupidty.”

The #2 pencil jots down another note. “What kind of support structure do you have in place to help you cope?”

“I have Jameson.”

“Whiskey is not a support structure; it is a crutch. How much do you drink?”

“Depends on how the day goes. Sometimes, I drink too much and other times I don’t drink near enough.”

“Why do I get the feeling you drink until you pass out?” Joy’s brow furrows as she asks this question. Her dark eyes seem to pierce the darkness which lingers in my soul. ‘Do you feel like you are making progress in overcoming the issues in your life?”


Joy glances at her watch. “You must find a way to relate to these sessions Freeman. Otherwise, you are wasting your time, not to mention mine. I want to help you, but you keep resisting my efforts.”

My heart beats like a barrage of rain on a tin roof. Finally, I look at Joy. “I have nothing left to live for Joy. I just want to die.”

She shakes her head and puts down the notebook. The #2 pencil is placed on top of her left ear, held in place by her dark hair, and she takes my hands in hers. “Look at me Freeman. You are more than the decrease. Things are dark right now. You are angry, bitter, and more than a little jaded, but you will heal. Take it one day at a time. Here is my phone number, when you feel the way you feel now, you call me, and I will talk you down.”

I nod and look at the floor. “Ok.”

She glances at her watch and picks up the notebook. “It appears our time is at the end; would you like to schedule an appointment for next week?”

“Sure.” I force a smile and she hands me the appointment slip. As I stand, she pauses at the door. “You’re more than the decrease Freeman. You are an overcomer.”

If only….

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