Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I shake my head vehemently, the mere thought of facing my mother stirring a swell of unresolved emotions within me. "I have nothing to say to her," I declare firmly.
Marley shifts her focus, her fingers dancing across her iPad screen as she redirects the conversation. "Perhaps we can delve deeper into your feelings about your mother next time. For now, how are you feeling?"
I inhale deeply, allowing the breath to fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. "Exhausted, but feeling a bit better," I admit, the weight of my fatigue evident in my voice.
Marley nods knowingly. "That's your body's way of gradually returning to baseline after the rush of adrenaline. Some people chase that high—they're adrenaline junkies."
I shake my head, a shiver running down my spine. "They must be insane because I can't stand this feeling."
"Remember," Marley reassures me, her voice gentle yet firm, "no one has ever died from an anxiety attack. You have the power to control it. When it hits, lean into it, breathe, and you'll overcome it." Her warm smile offers solace as she continues, "Don't let it derail you. Acknowledge the attack, but know it will pass. Your body can only produce so much adrenaline before it tires out."
"Good to know," I reply, a flicker of hope igniting within me.
"There's a wealth of resources available online," Marley suggests, tapping her iPad. "You can explore my website for articles on overcoming anxiety."
Her unwavering gaze meets mine as she concludes, "You're stronger than you realize. This challenge doesn't define you. It's just a hurdle you'll overcome."
Grateful for her encouragement, I offer a nod of appreciation. "Thank you."
“Same time next week?”
I nod again. “Sure.”
Leaving her office, a sense of relief washes over me, buoyed by the reassurance of progress. However, the effects of the medication start to take hold, leaving me too drowsy to trust my ability to drive safely. With a sigh, I fumble for my phone and shoot off a quick text to Greer, updating her on the successful appointment. I know she’s busy with Bane Delgados’ arraignment.
In search of clarity, I find myself wandering aimlessly through the streets, the rhythm of my footsteps echoing in the quiet surroundings. Eventually, I stumble upon a quaint stationery store, its window adorned with an array of notebooks, pens, and greeting cards.
Am I really the type of man to benefit from keeping a journal?
The bell chimes as I enter, greeted by the warm smile of a red-haired girl stationed behind the counter. Returning her smile with a nod of acknowledgment, I make my way toward the aisle designated for Journals and Diaries. My eyes skim over the array of options—pink journals adorned with delicate flowers, others featuring inspirational quotes—until they settle on a sleek black one embellished with a majestic gold emblem of a lion.
I proceed to the checkout, snagging a pen from a display next to the register before settling my bill for both items. Once I leave the store, I walk toward Danbury Park, which is situated nearby.
I follow the winding path until I find a bench nestled by the tranquil river. Settling onto the weathered wood, I reach into the white bag and retrieve the journal and pen.
The rhythmic sound of the flowing water lulls me into a sense of calm, and I sit for a few minutes, watching the gentle current of the river.
I open the journal and write…
I don’t know what to write in this stupid thing, but Marley thinks it will help. I am not so sure, but here we are. Right?
Life is strange, and I don’t know which direction I’m headed in now. I’ve often taken things for granted. Like my friendship with Greer. I’m not so sure I can call her a friend anymore. After last night, I never want to be friends with her again. I want to be the one to take care of her. Physically and emotionally. However, she deserves someone so much better…
I stop writing when I realize I’ve just written the words my mother said to me, repeatedly, growing up. You’re not good enough for her.
I think about the type of man Greer deserves, and I know she doesn’t deserve somebody struggling to keep their shit together. I scrub a hand down my face. Fuck.
My thoughts circle back to the harrowing panic attack that gripped me in Marley's office, triggered by our discussion about my mother. The memory floods my mind with vivid recollections of the suffocating fear and overwhelming dread that consumed me in that moment.
I'm certain Marley would admonish me for harboring such vindictive thoughts, urging me to let go of the desire for my mother to recollect the pain she inflicted upon me. She'd likely advise against viewing her memory loss as a sick twist of karma, reminding me that holding onto resentment only poisons my own well-being. Yet, the anger gushing through me refuses to be calmed. I’m furious as I set pen to paper…