Journal Entry

Everything felt wrong. My heart was beating erratically in my chest. I had no control over it. No power over my body. My heart was seizing. I felt tears welling in my eyes.

By the time I made it to the bathroom, my breathing had become shallow. Every time I imagined what I would say if I bumped into someone, I lost my words. My fear dried my mouth . . . cemented my tongue. All I could do was wait for the lingering effects of the attack to pass.

I sit in the waiting area after a stressful day of work, watching the door for a sign of life. Will this ever get easier? It’s been one week. One week since I found the strength to walk into this building and figure out what is going on with me. One week since I welcomed Dr. Montgomery into my life. Unloaded my burdens and began to purge my soul. As the seconds pass and my thoughts continue to drift, I can’t help but wonder about my new psychologist. Who is this man? What makes him tick? When the familiar knots start to form, I shake the thoughts away. Just thinking of him and the beginning of our session ties me in knots.

“Ms. Hamilton, the doctor will see you now.” I peer up at her and she points in the direction of his office. “He said to show yourself back.”

With one hand tucked into my coat pocket, I make my way to Dr. Montgomery’s door and push it open. He’s just finishing up a call and motions to me to take a seat on the couch.

“Okay, sweetie. Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He has a smile on his face—one that doesn’t only touch his eyes, but also touches his soul. “Love you too.” Hearing those words leave his mouth has me feeling the strangest sort of feeling. Almost like jealousy, but it can’t be that. I don’t know this man well enough to be jealous.

No, what I’m jealous of is that feeling. To have someone love you, to belong to someone, to have your soul attached to someone else’s.

As he hangs up the phone, his eyes are still filled with a look I miss.

Unconditional love.

“Sorry about that. It’s my niece’s birthday today. Her party is this weekend.” His niece. The oxygen I didn’t know I was holding expels from my lungs.

“Lucky girl to have an uncle like you.”

“I’m the lucky one.” The warmth of his smile echoes in his voice, and at that moment I see a different side of him. It makes me trust him further. It makes me like him even more. “So, how are you today?”

“I’m okay. Work has been rough. Things with my mom have been tough. I guess everything has been hard,” I admit with a sigh.

“How so?”

I proceed to give him an update of everything that has happened since I was last here. For some reason, I leave out the nightmares. I’m just not ready to tackles those yet when I have so many other issues going on. He listens with undivided attention. Once I’m done, he sets his notebook down and peers up at me.

“Let’s talk about Richard. Can you do that? Or do you need a minute?”

I consider what he’s asking of me. “I can do it.”

He lets out the breath he must have been holding as he waited for my answer, and then leans forward.

“You said Richard was your father’s best friend. Was he always a part of your life?”

“As far back as I can remember, it was Richard.” My heart thuds in my chest, but every time I feel myself falling, I concentrate on Dr. Montgomery’s broad shoulders that move slightly as he breathes and it anchors me.

“How so?”

“My mom . . . Well, let’s just say she didn’t handle Dad’s death well. Richard stepped up to help with me.” My voice is low.

He cocked his head. “I’m going to need you to elaborate on your mother a bit.”

A flash of grief rips through me. My mouth trembles as I speak. “She lost it. But this is the only way I know her. She’s always been this way to me. Does that make sense?”

“It does. What was your mom like? Before your dad’s accident.”

“People don’t really talk about that, but I saw pictures of my parents from before I was born and she looks like a totally different person. Her eyes were bright and she always had a smile. She was young, pretty. She looked carefree and in love.”

“And that’s not the mother you know?”

“Oh, God, no.” I shake my head vehemently. My mom has never been that mom to me. The tears I’ve been holding back force their way out at the thought.

Dr. Montgomery’s hand reaches out. When he speaks, his hand encases mine. “Tell me about the mom you know.” He gives my palm a squeeze and I look down at our connected hands. His grasp is strong. It comforts me. It gives me the reassurance I need.

Dr. Montgomery pulls away, and my body grows cold with the loss. I peer up at him and find his brow furrowed. “You can do it,” he encourages, while reclining back in his chair. With the new distance between us, I shift uncomfortably. Suddenly, I feel awkward.

“My mom . . . My mom is a hypochondriac. For as long as I can remember, she’s been popping pills for some imaginary ailment. She barely makes it out of bed half the time. She’s always ill. She doesn’t do anything for herself.” I let out a deep breath, my whole body shaking as I purge the memories from my mind.

“She gave up driving because she wouldn’t get in a car. She wouldn’t leave our house, so we never went anywhere. That’s why we moved to the city. When Richard found out, he made us give up our house and move to the vacant apartment near his.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Maybe. As I said before, I don’t remember much from my childhood.” Sometimes I thank God for that.

“What was she like once you moved to the city?”

“Richard hired us a full-time caregiver who also cleaned the house. She took care of me, and she took care of Mom.”

“What was her name?”

“Sonia.” My throat feels as if it’s closing up. I loved Sonia. She cared for me. Loved me. She was a mom to me.

“How long was Sonia with you?”

Not long enough. “Almost ten years, and then one day she wasn’t.”

“What happened?”

She left me. “She had to go back to Brazil because her mother got sick. It was a little shy of my thirteenth birthday.”

I still feel the pain from when she left. Sadness courses through my veins at the memory, like a caged animal threatening to break loose. A glossy sheen coats my skin. Every muscle feels tight, as if I’m cemented in place.

“It’s okay. Breathe.”

In. Out.

In. Out.

“She left right before my birthday. I remember because Mom was too “sick” to do anything special, but I could always count on Richard.”

“What did he do?”

“What didn’t he do? He was there for everything. As I said, Dad was his best friend. They grew up together. They were supposedly as close as brothers. When my father died, I became Richard’s surrogate daughter. Although he had been previously married, his wife never wanted children, and once they divorced he had no interest in remarrying, so mom and I were, for all intents and purpose, his family. He was the one with me when I broke my arm and had to go to the hospital, the one who came to the school for parent teacher meetings. He was the one who brought me medicine when I was sick, not Mom. She was too scared she’d catch something, so she stayed in the apartment, and if I was there she stayed in her room.” I clamp my lips together, but the sob breaks out anyway.

“I’m so sorry.” The blue of his gaze glistens with emotion, so sharp it sears me.

“It was exhausting. It is exhausting.”

“Do you need a minute?”

I shake my head. I need to get this over with. To tell him everything, expel it. Then it will be done.

“What is your relationship with her like now?”

“She needs me all the time. My phone rings all day, every day. A new ailment. A new diagnosis. A new second opinion.”

“So, basically you have become the mother?”

“Yes.”

“And who takes care of you?”

“Richard did.”

And with that, I let go. I let it all go. Every tear pours out with strangled breaths and a broken heart. 

The tears of a child who grew up too fast.

The tears of an adult who lost too much.