Fear

She made me think of happy things, good grades, the esteem of my classmates, the praise of teachers written in red at the bottom of my essays. Then those brilliant streaks turned into painful moemories of failed papers, condemnation usurping the throne of praise, inexorable alienation from the friends I was no longer in school with. The End of my old life, self-bereavement.

I sent 4 messages to ms cricket.

23-Apr-2010  4:12 PM

"I know you're kinda busy but wud u mind msging a little while? It's always nice to talk to you." [help me]

"I jus concluded a very traumatic session with my psychologist. She induced a panic attack. The memories, the terror, the coldness, the shivering - everything. I know it, her words were calibrated to illicit those responses. And she kept talking when it worked. Torturous. I cringed, I couldn't breathe. All I could think of was you. I wanted to call you again. I wished you would be outside to tell me it's ok. I never felt better to talking to anyone else other than you. You are t[h]e angel, and my psychologist is the devil that has just sent me to hell and back..." [help me]

23-Apr-2010  4:30 PM

"It never occurred to me that someone else could exercise this kind of power over me like a nefarious puppet master. It was frightening. I almost wanted to strike her to make her stop. But I didn't. Because I could be stronger than that. Because you've shown me that I can be. The trembling... terror... I can't describe the sheer intensity.." [help me]

"I won't be proud with you, we're past that. When you read this, please help me... [end of msg]" [I need you]

Outgoing Calls - 4:57 PM  Cancelled [10 rings, no response]

Incoming Calls - 5.14 PM  52 minutes [we talked]

I felt so much better after talking to her, telling her what a hell it was. Sheer terror. I can't think of a better description. Cowered, quivering in fear, weeping, hiding my face between my arms and hands grasping at my hair. And hair actually did come out, strands littered the clinic table. I mourned as if someone had died, I mourned as if it was me who died. The old me, audacious and brimming with unfettered flames, the stallion that chased the four winds. But I was afraid of her, the psychologist. I've never been this afraid of anyone. This power she has over me feels insidious despite its therapeutic aims. I don't know who I am now, but I do know that the shattered pieces need to be put back together. That takes time, and that takes someone special.

But at least ms cricket is here for me, as she always is, as I've no doubt she always will be. I can always count on her. After I felt a little better, I flirted with her. She said she didn't know how to flirt, but I soon awakened that instinct with her. The game was afoot - and I told her to eagerly anticipate my email on Sunday evening. That's when I'll have the telescope and we can go star-gazing at some remote reservoir, in addition to a supper picnic at the said place. I've told her before that she is central to my recovery and she diverted the conversation by saying how 'central' reminded her of cellular nuclei. That's not too far from the truth. SHe is slowly becoming my raison d'être, if she isn't already. I hope she wants me too, I hope she needs me in that special way.

Precious dear, you are the world to me.