Page 13 of Bared Betrayal
I walk over to the painting, crossing my arms and staring at the tiny black birds flying over the ocean. “Or is it safety? Contentment. Finding something far better than you know you deserve, so you hold on to it because you can’t go back to a world where you’re all alone?”
A tear runs down my cheek, and I quickly swipe it away then turn and face her. “I do love him. I guess.”
Dr. Trudeaux presses her lips together in a sympathetic half-smile. “Okay, let’s reroute for a moment.”
I take a seat across from her.
“Last time you were here, you mentioned you’ve been having thoughts of self-harm again.”
“Cutting,” I say, calling it what it is.
“Cutting,” she repeats. “And we spoke about you trying meditation and deep breathing exercises to get you through these anxiety bouts? Has it helped?”
“Well, I haven’t been cutting myself.”
“So, it’s helping?”
I crank my neck from side to side. “I can’t say for sure since I haven’t had time to take a decent breath since the engagement, let alone breathing exercises.”
“Kallie,” she urges me to look at her, “I strongly encourage you to take some time daily to do these. Whenever you feel like succumbing to your doubts, take a deep breath and remind yourself of your inner power. Nobody can make decisions for you but you. Take control of your life.”
“With all due respect, these breathing exercises don’t do anything but make me more anxious. Then I start to have an anxiety attack because I don’t think I’m friggin’ breathing right. It just makes it worse.”
“The most effective techniques are those that you make a daily habit of and concentrate on when anxious feelings start to outweigh rational thought. You know that self-harm isn’t going to help you. You’re simply punishing your body to distract from the inner pain. You must find a way to articulate these feelings without causing physical harm to yourself.”
“I know that, Doctor. I also know that cutting my skin open doesn’t help. I’ve tried it before, remember? Making myself bleed doesn’t silence the reminders of what happened to me.”
“Yet you still feel the need to do it sometimes.”
I shrug, toying with the hem of my sleeve. “There has always been a piece of me that feels like my control over pain would erase the madness and the memories. But in the end, it doesn’t. Nothing does.”
“Kallie, the results of sexual trauma are long-lasting. And there is a piece of you, a large piece, that isn’t really living in the present because you’re still reliving the past. Do you think that’s the reason you’re having doubts about Sebastian and this engagement?”
“What? No.”
“Kallie.” She leans forward in her seat. “It’s possible this engagement is forcing you to realize your life is moving on. And you’re finding it difficult because that would mean you have to let go of the past, and your survivor’s guilt isn’t allowing you to.”
Survivor’s guilt. The affliction that’s kept me in a prison far worse than the one I rotted in six years ago.
“It’s not your fault, Kallie,” Dr. Trudeaux says, keeping her soft gaze etched on me. “And you and I both know you would switch places with her if you could.”
“Yeah.” I struggle to keep the tears at bay and shift in my seat as discomfort crawls up my spine. “I would take her place in a heartbeat.”
“I know. But you can’t. What you can do is try to live your life. For both you…and her.”
“I want to. I really do,” I say, wiping the tears with the back of my hand. “But it’s like there’s something inside me that’s empty, a big, gaping kind of empty. Sebastian is a good man, and our relationship has been so…easy from day one. I know I should want this. I shouldn’t have any doubts at all. That would make me normal, right? If I wanted the white picket fence, the American dream. That’s normal.” I scoff. “Normal. What is fucking normal? It’s all bullshit. It’s all fucking bullshit!” I yell, swiping my palms heavily down my face. I want to scream. I want to tear out of my skin and scream until my head explodes.
“Just because it’s natural and normal for other couples doesn’t mean the same normal applies to you. You know that. We’ve discussed it often, how you have to go your own way. The way that feels true for you.” She settles back in her seat, crossing her legs again, and I’m leaning my head back, trying to fucking breathe.
“Let’s talk about intimacy for a moment,” she starts. “I know it took you a long time, understandably, to trust Sebastian when it comes to sex. Even after years of being together, it can still be challenging at times because recovering from traumatic events as you have endured is a lifelong process. How is that going?”
The crawling sensation up my spine worsens, so I stand and walk across the plush carpet barefoot since all of Dr. Trudeaux’s patients have to leave their shoes by the door. Being comfortable and all that.
I pour myself some water, the decanter clinking against the glass. My throat is dry, and talking about my sex life with Sebastian will worsen it.
“We get along fine, I guess.”
“You guess?”
