So Many Reasons Why (So Many Reasons 1)

“Oh crap!” I was jolted back to reality by the realisation that I had a 9am appointment with Doctor Mellow.

I woke up to Tom shaking me.

“Em, you’re okay.” He soothed, rubbing my back. I realised I was crying.

Another nightmare. I didn't remember it, but then again, I didn't remember half of them. I'd call things out, cry, scream. Then I'd wake up and remember nothing, except how I felt.

Scared, and alone.

As much as I didn't want to relive what happened to me, it scared the hell out of me not remembering. Sometimes if I woke up at the right (or wrong) moment I would remember little things. The scar above his left eye as he hovered over me. The stench of stale sweat and cigarettes. Other days I’d remember more.

I sat up to catch my breath, with Tom next to me. I wiped over my arm. Perspiration dripped from my fingers. I glanced behind me at the sheets. Soaking. It must have been a bad one.

“Are you sure you're okay? I can skip work?” I looked at the alarm clock. He was already late.

“Go. I'm fine” I promised. Only I wasn't fine. I felt empty and scared. I felt the way I always did when I woke up. Like I was going to be sick. I threw my arms around him, knowing just how lucky I was to have Tom.

Forcing myself into the shower, the boiling water hit my skin leaving big red marks in its wake. I didn't care, I needed it. I needed to feel something. I needed the empty pit in my stomach to leave. The only problem was I didn't know how to do that. My head was throbbing from last night, and if offered, I'd have quite easily taken a few more hours sleep.

It had taken me a long time to find a psychiatrist who I felt comfortable enough to talk to, and almost as long to get past the fact that his name was Doctor Mellow. He sat opposite me on the couch with his mug of tea.

Doctor Mellow was certainly an interesting fellow. In his late sixties, today he was decked out in an Adidas parachute tracksuit jacket and pants, you know the ones that were all the rage for a week in the 80s?

It was sometimes hard to take the man seriously, but he was able to get me on a level not many people could.

“How’re things, Emma? Since our last session?” Our last session had been a week ago.

“Good. Okay.”

“And how have things really been? Derek’s possible release must be hard on you.”

“You know about that?” It surprised me how much he knew sometimes. Then again, I suppose that was his job.

He nodded. “Yes. I know about that. How did you cope finding that out on the anniversary?” Seeing my shock, he added “Your mother filled me in on that.” Annoyance bubbled inside me. What ever happened to doctor patient confidentiality? What else had he and my mother spoken about?

“Emma? Let’s pretend Derek is granted parole. How will that effect you?” I almost laughed. How would it affect me? How wouldn't it? I thought for a moment, trying to get the words right in my brain.

“If don't feel safe with him locked up in prison, I don't know how I will cope with him out.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “He could be around any corner, lurking outside my window. I just-” I broke off.

“What Emma? You just what?” Dr Mellow leaned forward, placing his cup on the coffee table. I focused on the marks the cup had left on the glass top.

“I just want to feel strong. I want to do things and not worry, but it's always there and no matter what I do I can't focus on anything but that.”

“Maybe you need to find something else to focus on, Emma.”

“Like what?” As if I hadn’t tried that already. Dr Mellow shifted in his seat.

“Emma.” He began. “Getting over your agoraphobia is going to be so much harder for you when he is out. Maybe you should try and take some steps toward overcoming this.” My body tensed. Dr Mellow glanced at my white knuckles as they tightened around the edge of my seat.

“Start slow Emma. Stand on your balcony. Open the front door. Just make those first steps towards gaining control.”

The grey clouds were moving over the sky. From the crack in the sliding door, I could smell the rain. This was my first step. Sitting on the floor inside my living room peering through the window may not seem like such a step, but the last time I’d even looked outside the window was before the attack.

He was right. Hiding from this wasn't going to change things. I'd always blamed my agoraphobia on what had happened to me, and to some extent, it was to blame. But I was also to blame. By not facing my fears I'd let them grow into this huge, unrelenting problem that engulfed me constantly. If I couldn't get myself out of this suffocation, what hope did I have when he was released? If it wasn’t this time, it would be the next. They couldn't keep him locked up forever.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

“Hey Cass.”