Life without Love

She looked at me gently, fidgeting in her seat. Shuffling papers. Glancing at her screen.  Tilting her head.

"I put your referral through, err. Have you heard from them?"

My hand was already digging through my bag. A letter, neatly folded. I held it out. "I just received this today."

She takes it, and we both feel relieved to have something else to look at. "Oh, that's great. That's really good they have scheduled an appointment so soon. I.. I tried to explain everything. I mentioned about the DBT you were asking about. But, we'll see what they think first.." She continued to chatter.

I nodded, feeling more overwhelmed with each word. My wrists ached from the stretch of sitting on my hands. She paused to look at something on her PC. I stared at her photograph, a toddler, and remembered when we first met, several years ago: she initiated my infertility investigations and then promptly got pregnant. By the look of the picture, he's now two. I wondered why I felt so numb.

"How do you feel about the appointment?" Her question cut through me. Feel.

I took the paper and breathed. "Well," The prospective answers battled inside me.

She looked sad. Or was that a look of concern? "I know this is hard for you. I can see that you are anxious."

I'm anxious?

I did a quick body scan. Body still, eyes dry. But seeping slowly through was an awareness of her, reflecting me. I felt thick and lost in time, and she kept talking. I didn't listen.


----


I am weighed down with the realisation that I was an unwell child. The terror came out in my dreams, in my play, in my regular stomach aches, my autistic-flavoured panic attacks, my obsessions, my allergies, my asthma, my chronic illnesses, my delusions, my depression.

And no one did anything about it. So, I never knew they should have.

I cried myself to sleep most nights, losing myself in the plots and characters of others. Distraction became dissociation, and at some point I became numb to the pain. Numb to myself. Numb to the possibility that all of this could be different. My suffering was unnecessary. Help was out there.

And, moreover, I needed it.

I need it.