What To Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection Part Two (178 page)

While we ate our lunch, I avoided talking anymore about last night. I brought up the new guy she had met at work. She told me his name was Michael, and he was a supervisor in one of the departments in her office. I could tell she was smitten with the way she lit up when she spoke about him. We must have been talking for a good hour when she glanced down at her watch. “Shit. I got to go. Promise me you will think about talking to someone. You have a whole lot of issues to work out.”

I rolled my eyes at her jumping up and giving her a big hug. “Thank you for always putting up with my shit.”

Giving me a bear hug back she said, “Well someone needs to because you are doing a horrible job on your own.” She released her grip. “I will call you tonight.” As she was walking away she spun around pointing her finger at me. “I am not going to let this therapy thing go.”

I nodded my head playing along with her. I figured if I didn’t fight her she would just let it go. As I headed back to my apartment the words
functioning sex addict and alcoholic
replayed in my head like a skipping record. Had I let myself get that bad? “Fuck.” I said aloud as I ran my hands through my hair. I walked through my door and Molly was waiting for me. “Hey Molly girl, did you miss me?” I smiled at her. Thoughts of my conversation with Nicole ran through my head once again. “Pfff, therapy,” I scoffed.

I flipped the light switch on in my room. All I wanted to do was crawl back into my bed and end this day. The last twenty-four hours had been emotionally draining. As my eyes scanned my room looking for my robe, I realized I had never cleaned off my bed. “Ugh.” My bed was still covered with all of my memories that haunted me. I began to pick up the pictures and put them back in their box while I looked quickly at some of them.

Some, I would stare at and actually touch Garrett’s face. We looked so happy. How had we gotten to this place? A tear every now and then would roll down my cheek. After everything was back in the box, I decided to put the box in the back of my closet instead of underneath my bed. I felt this would tempt me less. I would actually have to make an effort to retrieve the box.

I crawled under the covers lying flat on my back in the darkness.
Christ, I really have made a mess of my life.
The word therapy was ringing in my ears. I flipped over on my side angrily.
I don’t need therapy
.

I
had a restless night’s sleep, tossing, turning and dreaming about the last four years, all the men, parties, booze and debauchery that had occurred. I woke to an unsettling feeling in my stomach. I got up to use the bathroom as I passed by the mirror I saw my reflection out of the corner of my eye. Stopping at the mirror I stared at myself. I looked almost unrecognizable from the girl in those pictures. I was much thinner. My cheeks had a sunken appearance. Funny I had never noticed before. Of course, there were dark purplish circles under my eyes. I had almost become accustomed to them.
Isn’t that why they made concealer make-up?
With the reality of my looks setting in, my stomach did a somersault. I quickly ran from the bathroom and into the kitchen. I poured a large glass of Diet Coke to settle my stomach. I stood at the kitchen counter for a few minutes staring off into space.

My cell phone began to ring and brought me back. I quickly walked back into my bedroom and picked up the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

“Well, she finally answers her phone,” the tone in her voice told me she was pissed at me. I promised her when I left for college, I would call her every other day to check in with her.

I immediately blurted out, “I’m sorry I haven’t called, I had a wedding Saturday night and I slept most of the day yesterday.” I was trying to smooth things over with her. My mother really did love to blow things out of proportion, especially when it came to me. She once again reminded me of my promise I had made to her when I left for college.

“Yes, I know, every other day. Mom, I’m fine.” I was getting aggravated.

I understand she’s my mother and she worries, but I’m a grown woman for Pete’s sake. There was no reason for me to have to report in to her every other day. Quickly trying to change the subject I said, “Hey, you want to have lunch today? If you give me about an hour to get ready, I will meet you in the parking lot.”

“Sure Honey, I would love to meet you for lunch, we can further this discussion in person.” I could almost picture my mother’s face as she said these words to me.

“I will see you in an hour, Mother.” I quickly hung up the phone and jumped into the shower.

I was ready and waiting when my mother finally arrived to pick me up. My mother was one of those people who were always late. She pulled up in her sporty black Honda Prelude. Even though the car was older, it was practically in mint condition. She loved it, and it was the perfect size for her. She stood only four feet eleven and had dark brown hair. She was very young looking for her age, and we often got asked if we were sisters. Of course, my mother ate that up. It used to bother me when I was younger, but now I just laugh and play along.

As I climbed into her car, she gave me a once over. “Hey Honey. Yikes, you look like hell.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, Mom. It’s great to see you too,” I said sarcastically.

She reached her hand over to me and rubbed my arm. “Oh, honey. I was only joking. Is everything ok?”

Taking a deep breath I replied, “No, not really.” My voice was shaking.

As we drove to our favorite Chinese restaurant, I explained to my mom I ran into Garrett at the wedding. I could tell by the look on her face she was less than thrilled about the news. I told her he was there with a date and things didn’t end very well between us. I ensured her nothing was going to happen with him and me. A look of happiness appeared on her face as she tried to hide her smile.

As my mother began giving me almost the identical lecture that Nicole had earlier, I abruptly stopped her. “Mom, please spare me the lecture, I’ve already had this conversation with Nicole.”

“By the looks of you, I think you need to hear this twice. I haven’t seen you look this bad since you and Garrett broke-up.” Her voice was beginning to rise.

“Ugh, Mom. Please!” I said throwing my head back towards the head rest. “You don’t think I know this. . .”

“Leila, I spoke to Nicole this morning. She told me she thinks you need therapy. I am not sure exactly what is going on with you, but looking at you right now and the state that you are in, I have to say I agree with her.”

We pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, and I nearly jumped out of the moving car. I was furious. I couldn’t believe Nicole had gone behind my back and spoken to my mother. I ran into the restaurant and headed straight for the bathroom trying to hide the tears that were running down my cheeks. I felt so betrayed. I shut myself in one of the stalls and quietly cried. I heard the door open and shut quietly. “Leila?”

“Mom. . . I can’t do this with you right now.” I felt defeated, there was no fight left in me.

“Please come out. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m worried about you and I don’t want to see you go down that dark road again. It killed me to see you like that . . . Like this. What worries me is . . . You haven’t seen or heard from him in all this time and now within days of being in contact with him, I can see you slipping back to that state of depression.”

I could see her feet under the stall door, and her body was leaning up against the door. I slowly climbed off the top of the toilet tank and unlocked the door. My mother was standing there with such a concerned look on her face. It was almost frightening.

She ran her hands gently through my hair. “Oh, Baby. I only want what is best for you. Seeing you like this again is really scaring me.” It looked as if she was going to start to cry, which made me feel even worse.

“Mom, I am ok really. . . I have given some thought to the whole therapy thing. I am going to look into it.” I actually hadn’t given any thought to therapy until just now, when I saw the worried look in my mother’s eyes.

She let out a huge sigh of relief. “Really? You promise? I can go with you if you want” she said eagerly.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Ummm . . . No, I really don’t think you want to hear what I have to say to a therapist.”

She looked back at me and smiled. “You’re probably right.”

I did a quick once over in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look too horrible and we headed out to the dining room of the restaurant. We made mostly small talk during lunch. I tried to avoid the topic of Garrett or therapy. I told her about the upcoming weddings I was going to be photographing. We discussed how beautiful they were going to be with the fall foliage. My mother was my biggest fan when it came to my photography. When her friends came over to the house she would immediately pull up the website and show off my work. It made me warm and fuzzy inside to know she was proud of me.

After we finished lunch, she dropped me off back at my apartment. I promised her I would look for a therapist. We said our goodbyes and I headed up to my apartment. Molly was waiting for me at the door when I walked through. She was such a loyal friend. “Come on Moll. . . Grandma says I need therapy.” She looked up at me and followed me into my bedroom.

I found a phone book in my nightstand. I had no idea how old it was or where it came from. I think it may have come with the apartment. As Molly and I lay on my bed, I searched for therapists in the yellow pages. I had no clue what I was looking for. Did I need a therapist or a shrink? What was the difference? As I flipped through the pages, I found an ad of a very nice looking professional licensed social worker named Helen Read. Her ad seemed very legitimate and her specialties were families, teens, couples, and troubled youth. “Fits me to a tee,” I said to Molly. She looked at me purring and then closed her eyes.

I nervously picked up the phone and dialed the number. Within two rings a bubbly woman with an Australian accent answered the phone. I was caught off guard by the accent, definitely not what I was expecting. “Ahh. . Hi. . . I was looking to speak with Ms. Read,” I stammered.

“This is Ms. Read. How can I help you?” She responded politely.

“My name is Leila and I was looking to see if you were taking new patients and if you were if I could schedule an appointment,” I asked with my voice almost cracking.

“Yes, I am taking new patients and I would love to schedule you an appointment.” Her accent made her sound so regal.

After making my initial appointment for next Wednesday, I hung the phone up and let out a huge sigh of relief. The knots in my stomach finally began to loosen up a bit. I told myself I was taking a step in the right direction, and I was happy with my decision to call her. I laid my head down on the pillow and fell asleep.

W
ednesday seemed to come within the blink of an eye. As I got ready to meet with my therapist, I started to feel nervous and my stomach was nauseous. I tried to kill time by reading the new Cosmo magazine I had picked up at the grocery store, but I couldn’t concentrate on the article. I threw the magazine back onto my night stand and decided to head on over to my appointment. I’m sure I would have to fill out some sort of paperwork so getting there a few minutes early was actually a good idea.

The therapist’s office was located in the next town over and was a quick fifteen minute drive. When I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I was a full half an hour early. I turned the radio on and flipped through the channels looking for a song.
Ugh . . . Every single channel is playing a commercial.
Frustrated, I flipped the radio off and anxiously began to bite my finger nails. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head.
Stop biting your fingernails that is a disgusting habit.
This was something she had told me since I was a little girl. I rolled my eyes at my memory.

I couldn’t take the anticipation any longer and headed into the building. As soon as I stepped inside the building noticed the directory hanging on the wall. Scanning the list I found Helen Read’s name. Her office was on the second floor suite 213. I opened the door and walked up the flight of stairs directly in front of me. Once I reached the top of the stairs I made my way down the long corridor ahead of me. I began looking for Helen Read’s name to be posted on the office door. The majority of the offices were either doctor’s or lawyer’s offices. When I finally reached her office, I quietly opened the office door trying not to disturb anyone.