Head Doctor

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A young man seeks help with his demons.
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ChancesAre
ChancesAre
894 Followers

I've been holding this story for a while. It's a little fantastic and somewhat outside the normal definitions and situations for this category, so keep an open mind and let me know what you think at the end.

Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

*

As I sat fuming in my cubicle, a seething anger oozed from between my teeth. My eyes burned red and a boiling fury ignited through my body, balling up my fist and slamming it down in front of me. Sparks flew and keys disintegrated as I watched the screen of my innocent laptop flicker to black . . . Fucking file!

My life changed forever that day as I stood in my boss' doorway, nervously clutching my inoperable and disfigured workstation in my arms. With a flushed face and a rapid pulse I tried to think of how to explain away the swift and unexpected annihilation of company property.

To be honest, even I was shocked by my sudden emotional outburst. I never lose my cool like that. I mean, calm composure is kind of my thing. Even as a child or teenager I could find ways to diffuse situations instead of escalating them.

So how on earth did someone like me get to a point where an inanimate icon could bring about such an unexpected act of physical aggression? I had no idea.

As a consequence of the whole ordeal, my boss Emily demanded I see a specialist to resolve my apparent anger issues. After all, she reasoned, the world is filled with people and computer problems, and hardly any of them feel the need to punch their digital workhorses into oblivion.

So I agreed to get help, mostly to assure Emily that the computer replacement she had put on order would not suffer a similar fate, but also because I wanted to see if something was actually the matter with me . . .

Looking forward to some professional answers, I made the appointment. Emily suggested an office down the street specializing in 'holistic healing' or something like that. I was hardly a believer in alternative medicine, (it all seemed like sleight of hand to me), but seeing as how my boss was making the referral, how could I refuse?

My appointment was with Dr. Rachel Blancet, a "practitioner" whose credentials included a doctoral degree in metaphysics . . . whatever that was. But, if acupuncture or voodoo or something could help me get to the bottom of my problems, then have at it.

The first couple sessions with Dr. Blancet were innocuous, even amusing. We would talk about my family and my life as twinkling chimes and whale sounds played in the background. I think she must have been just trying to find a place to start with me at that point.

In the next session we began some of her 'energy work' as she called it, which had me lying face up in a robe, stretched across a massage table where she placed hot, wet towels all over my skin. The room was filled with heady smells and enchanting music; and it was relaxing, but I was feeling no different by the end of it.

During that session we talked about my father, and how he and I had never connected emotionally. My dad was an independent sort of man, and a bit gruff to talk to. He sold machine tools for a living and had a passion for fishing, both subjects I had zero interest in. We rarely talked about anything meaningful, and the only thing I could remember ever connecting with him on was our shared interest in old westerns.

Dad had left my mom about a year before, and Mom and I had both seen it coming. He'd always been leaving us for extended periods, and I was starting to think he only came back for me. When he finally left her for good, it felt like more like a relief than anything. In fact, Mom and I just got closer as a result.

Evidently something significant had come up toward the end of that particular session with Rachel. She mentioned the energy in the room had 'shifted', not that I had any idea of what she was talking about. She knew right where to begin for our next meeting and ended up moving my appointment ahead a few days to get started.

I remember walking in that day on a lunch break from work. I was enjoying the woodsy smells of massage oils and the peaceful ambiance that always seemed to hang in the air. I sank into a comfortable chair while Dr. Blancet prattled on the phone behind her large desk, a barricade of new age wisdom pamphlets framing the view. The dark colors and tranquil music in the room were soothing, and it was then that I realized . . . I was actually starting to look forward to this part of my week.

I listened to Rachel's spirited voice as she continued to talk, and she waved a bejeweled hand to me in greeting, jangling her many bracelets.

I felt blessed to have such a wonderful soul helping me through an issue I had never known existed. Her pretty blue eyes always sparkled with life. They were fun to look at, and her exuberant personality made them hard to resist. She always wore airy blouses and long flowery skirts; very put together to be sure, but in a more ethereal way.

When she hung up, Dr. Blancet stood and looked across the room into my eyes and paused for a moment, staring. I noticed her lingering gaze, her soft motherly demeanor, and I thought she might have been trying to size me up anew or something. In any other situation it would have made for an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn't.

"You ready?" is all she finally said.

I nodded and followed her into a side room, one much different than the candlelit therapy rooms we had been using up until then. The room looked extremely comfortable, but in a fresh way, like a brightly lit sitting room you might find in a modern town home.

We made a little small talk as Rachel sat herself on a boxy white leather chair. She motioned for me to sit on a similar loveseat positioned at a right angle to the chair. It was amazingly comfortable, and as I sank in, I instantly began feeling more at ease than I had been feeling all month.

Rachel started asking me questions right away. This was new, as she typically started our sessions by mysteriously 'clearing the energies' of the room, or some other ritualistic thing. This time it seemed like an actual therapy session in a modern doctor's office.

"Like I mentioned last time," she began casually, "I'm getting a sense that your father is not the root cause of your energy block, as I'd originally suspected." She piled up her hands on her stack of knees. "I am definitely getting a lot of obstruction from you though, let's talk a little more about your mother. How is that relationship?"

Her voice was calm and reassuring, and I felt words just rising out of me. "Well, Mom and I have always been close, as far back as I can remember. We honestly have fun whenever we're together, and I can't imagine she could have anything at all to do with my negative feelings."

"Do you hold any resentment toward her for not making it work with your father?" Rachel gazed at me, seriously probing my psyche.

"Well . . . I guess I always felt bad for her having to be married to such a hard-hearted person, she's always been so thoughtful and sincere. Sure, Dad never seemed to acknowledge her value like he should have, but it's not like I expected much from him in the first place. I'm not sure she could have changed him if she tried." I looked up for confirmation that I had sufficiently answered her question. Rachel continued unflinching.

"I am still sensing an underlying frustration; does she ever make you angry?" Rachel's look to me was sincere, although the question seemed ridiculous.

"Mom? She couldn't make anyone angry," I said honestly. "I mean, the only thing about her that remotely upsets me is she doesn't get out as much as she probably should. Also, she's started drinking more, which can be a bit frustrating."

Rachel raised her eyebrows to me, and my heart sank. Somewhere hidden inside I knew it was Mom; but I didn't want it to be. I felt Rachel's look to me soften, and I knew we were headed into a darker place in my mind.

My mouth lost all moisture. I tried to lick my tongue across my parched lips but the attempt was futile. She noticed.

"So her drinking upsets you then?" Rachel asked, standing and moving toward a desk in the corner of the room. My eyes followed her tall form as she reached for a glass of icy water on a tray I hadn't noticed.

"Well, I guess she can do what she wants. I don't think she's turning into an alcoholic or anything, if that's what you mean," I said, hesitant to get into it further. "She lives alone, and personally I don't think drinking by yourself is a good idea. I make sure to visit her often and just keep a casual eye out. I really don't mind being there; like I said, she's a lot of fun."

Rachel returned to the seating area and took the cushion next to me on the loveseat, placing the glass of water in my hands. It was cool and damp to the touch. I took a quenching sip, then nervously clung to the glass and lowered it to my lap. I was starting to sweat.

"Does she drink a lot?" Her eyes were closer to mine and intense. I suddenly found I couldn't look into them. She turned her hips toward me on the couch and seemed to be intentionally entering my personal space. She was tuned in to my every word. I felt a little self-conscious, and a little guilty for outing my innocent mother.

"Well . . ." I had to think about what she meant, "when you say 'a lot,' do you mean frequently . . . or heavily, although I guess it's a little of both. I mean, she has a couple drinks after work almost every day now, but more and more often she seems to overdo it."

Rachel looked at me for a silent moment as an uneasy memory began to materialize in my mind.

"Okay, so let's talk for a minute about how her drinking is affecting you Scott. Let's steer away from your mother and her well-being for a moment, just tell me how this affects you personally," she said softly.

"Well . . . it's hard for me to see her like that, I mean, like when she's had too much. I just don't know how to deal with her, or how to talk to her when she gets like that. It can be pretty annoying!"

As soon as those words were out of my mouth I felt a subtle weight lift. It wasn't Mom I was getting irritated with, it was my inability to control the situation. I suddenly felt I was getting a piece of my lost mental clarity back.

I took in a long, deep breath, and blew it out in front of me, a heavy exasperated sigh.

"You're doing fine Scott," she said, "let's just take this a step at a time. I have considerable experience with substance use and the affects it can have on families, so I'm just going to ask you some more questions, okay?"

I nodded.

"Honestly, I can feel your strong emotions, and your energy block definitely has to do with your mother. Now, as you've probably noticed, some of my healing methods are a bit unorthodox, but I've already felt the first signs of this energy lifting from you as we've been talking here. It may sound strange, but if you pay attention, I think you can feel it too."

She was right. I felt it.

She spoke softly this time, "Now Scott, I want you to tell me how your mother makes you feel when she drinks."

"Uncomfortable," I blurted out. I couldn't help it, my mouth just opened and a word fell out.

"Really . . . and in what way does she make you feel uncomfortable?" she probed, her folded knee touching my thigh as I fidgeted with the glass of water in my lap. Rachel was focused on me and completely zeroed in on my every word.

"She's always, I mean, she . . . I don't know," I fumbled out tensely, trying desperately to say what I wanted to say, without actually coming right out and saying it.

I felt her take the glass of water from my hand and set it on the table behind us. She sat back and her hand touched my arm, making a gentle connection.

"It's okay Scott," Rachel soothed and leaned toward me like a consoling friend, and the lush smell of her perfume wrapped around me. "I'm the only person here, and everything stays with us, okay? Does she say things you don't appreciate?"

I thought about it for a moment and then shook my head as I couldn't think of a time when she did. As I thought about it more, my heart sank as a vivid memory popped into my head which I must have blocked out; but there it was. My mouth went bone dry again and I thought longingly of the glass of water on the table as Dr. Blancet continued.

"No? Then does she get . . . physical with you Scott?"

I looked up at her with a cross between incredulous indignation, and awed wonder that she could have read me so easily. Her eyes looked deeply into mine, letting me know she understood my problem, and that it was okay to discuss it candidly.

"She's always . . . grabbing at me," I revealed, nervously looking into my hands. Rachel was unphased by my confession and continued watching me, waiting for me to continue. I couldn't.

"It's okay Scott," she confided quietly as if letting me in on a little secret, "alcohol affects people in many ways, and it's our job as bystanders to do what we can to help the people we love when they need it. It's also our responsibility to keep ourselves from being negatively affected by their actions as well."

I looked up at her again as if a faint light had just blinked on. Her loving eyes were so accepting, so caring that I got lost in them for a moment, finding a glimmer of salvation in her piercing gaze.

"I'm assuming that, since her physical contact makes you uncomfortable instead of say, fearful, her touch isn't entirely motherly. Is that it?"

I swallowed hard and lightly nodded, a sense of relief running through my limbs that I didn't have to come right out and say it. She squeezed my arm again in a comforting way and set her other hand on top of the first.

"Tell me about a typical situation Scott. How does it start, and when do you begin to realize that she's had too much to drink?"

This was difficult, and it helped that Dr. Blancet seemed to understand my situation. I took a deep breath and began.

"She likes to put on music at night, which she always has, ever since I was little. It's one of the things I love about her, we both enjoy great music. We're usually having an enjoyable time together, and then later into the evening, after she's had a few drinks, she'll end up asking me to dance with her," I revealed shakily, "Then, sometimes when we do, it's like she needs a boyfriend or something the way she wants us to dance."

I was honestly ashamed to talk about my wonderful mother like this, but I had to get it out. This was the only way for me to get through it, and I knew immediately that this was the big problem; the one which had been bothering me to no end!

"I see," was Rachel's simple reply. I continued.

"She wants to get really close, which is fine; she's always been affectionate. But then she starts doing things, like sliding her hands up under my shirt," I continued. Something inside me was starting to break open as I began getting it off my chest.

"I don't even mind it so much, and I try to be understanding of her personal situation and even her drunkenness, but then she takes it too far; every time! She'll either put her fingers under the waist of my pants, or rub over my back pockets, or she'll start kissing my neck! It freaks me out and I have to push her away and leave her standing there. I feel bad when I do it, I really do, but what am I supposed to do?! She doesn't even remember anything about it the next day."

Rachel looked at me for what felt like an hour. It was hard to meet her gaze. I could feel her intense eyes assessing my natural expressions, taking in my 'energy' as it were. I was getting a little upset and uncomfortable talking like this, especially with her sitting right beside me, but I also felt justified in my distress.

Then she seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.

"What's your mother's name Scott?" she asked calmly.

"Sophia."

"That's a pretty name. I can see this is very difficult for you; and I want you to know that I understand, and I can help you. Let me ask you a tough question though, which will help me see the situation more clearly. Just try to answer as best you can, okay?"

Nod.

"What do you think would happen if you just let Sophia continue her little dance with you, I mean without pushing her away the way you do," she asked, like a sudden punch in the gut. My eyes grew wide and I turned my head to look at Rachel in surprise.

"What? Wh-what do you mean?" I stuttered back.

"I mean," she continued with a more serious tone and look, "what do you think would really happen if you were to allow your mother to keep dancing with you like that, to enjoy her son's embrace in her drunken haze the way she does, without leaving her there standing all by herself? Do you really think she is going to seduce her own son in her living room Scott?"

"N-no . . . I guess not, but it's weird," I said, "She's my mother, and when she touches me under my clothes I get freaked out and I panic. I mean, is she coming on to me or something?"

My heart was beating quickly and I started feeling tight and constricted, like I couldn't breathe.

"I hear you Scott, and believe me I'm on your side. I really am. We just need to look at this uncomfortable situation a little more, because you and I are not here to work on your mother's inappropriate actions . . . right? We're here to work on your reactions," she said, keeping both hands on my arm closest to her and twisting toward me further, "the kind of reactions that have been exploding out of you without warning at work, remember?"

She had a point; and could sense my resolve beginning to fade.

"I am going to help you work through this, and we're going to clear some of that negative energy right out of you, but I need you to trust me. Okay?"

I took a deep cleansing breath and allowed her to take control of the situation, nodding my understanding.

"Good. Now we're going to try a therapeutic technique called 'focused visualization'. I'm going to start by telling you your own story again, but with a few adjustments. I just need you to remember that this just a story, okay, and not something real. It's a cognitive exercise designed to uncover and release hidden feelings and emotions that can block our energy flow. It will be uncomfortable at first, but I want you to close your eyes and just listen to me with an open mind, okay?"

I looked at her again, and she lightly nodded her head that it was okay and I was in good hands. I looked forward and allowed my eyelids to settle my view into darkness.

"Now this will seem very strange, but you're safe with me. Try not to resist with your thoughts, instead try to accept what I say without mentally fighting back, and we'll see where this takes us."

I nodded and she tightened her grip on my arm, shifting closer. I felt her somewhat against my shoulder.

"I want you to picture yourself in your mother's living room again Scott. You're there, but you're not really there, you're here with me. The music is playing and she's asked you to dance. You already know where this is heading because she's been drinking, but you accept and take her into your arms."

I swallowed hard as my mind projected the familiar scene across the inside of my eyelids.

"Are you with me?"

"Yes," I softly replied.

"Good. Now as you dance, I want you to remember how it feels to dance with her, before she gets carried away I mean. It's innocent. You're enjoying a respectful intimacy with your mother, and it helps both of you to feel loved and cared for. It's nice. Her arms wrap around you and she pulls you close."

Rachel went silent for a moment. In my mind Mother's smaller frame was pressed against me, hugging me tight. It was a comforting feeling, and I realized it was something we truly shared together. I too wanted to dance and to feel loved and cared for and held.

ChancesAre
ChancesAre
894 Followers