Never Stop

11. Via

Chapter eleven

Via

SIX YEARS LATER- 2023

" V IA!" Dr. Carr proclaims loudly.

I instantly emerge from the daze I was apparently just in, turning my attention away from the fingers I'm staring at as I twirl them around one another and put my attention solely on her. I raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes to show her I'm back mentally.

"Via, where were your thoughts just now?" Dr. Carr asks.

I'm not sure where my thoughts should be, but they were not listening to the probably helpful tips she gave me. I clear my throat before speaking.

"Do you want the lie I'm currently trying to construe, or do you want me to be honest?"

She stumbles around for a few seconds, relaxing her composure to show me she's easy to talk to, like she always does when I ask her this question.

"You can give your honesty here. This is therapy; nothing you say to me has to or should be for my benefit."

I like that response. That's a new one. Usually, when I throw these questions at her, she tells me to say whatever I feel most comfortable saying. So most of the time, I do, and it's usually something completely off the wall and insignificant to what's bothering me. I shouldn't do that here. I know she's easy to talk to. She's never once made me feel judged or less than. It's just… hard.

It's harder to say some things. My mind wanders off and thinks. It's not just hard to tell her, but it's hard to say them out loud, period. Saying my thoughts aloud adds a sting in a way that I can't explain. I've become so accustomed to putting on the facade that I'm perfectly fine. When I have to admit the truth, it's disappointing. I've failed and let myself down by not being as happy as I try to pretend to be.

"Well," I clear my throat and try to push down the knot that's found its way into it. "The truth is I'm not even sure where my head was. Or where my brain always tends to go and get lost in. I feel like I'm in limbo. I am not moving forward or backward; I am just floating idly. It's as if I've become so immune to suffering that my brain will go completely blank in an attempt to protect me, and every emotion gets drained from me completely. It's an odd stage, where I'm not 'feeling' anything, yet 'feeling' absolutely everything and way too much all at the same time."

She straightens in her chair, unwrapping her legs that were previously crossed.She doesn't break eye contact, then nods for me to continue. She must be thrilled that I'm actually speaking. She smiles casually, assuring me she's following along with the nonsense I attempted to explain.

I nod softly. I accept that this is the most vulnerable I've allowed myself to be here, and it's because I hate this feeling. I hate feeling transparent. I hate feeling like I'm on a display shelf for others to see and pick apart. Yet, here I am.

Trying.

I know that not much of what I just threw her way makes sense, but there's no way to make sense of anything I feel now.

"I can't 'not' think about it, think about them. The grief doesn't just consume me; it's become a part of who I am. Instead of crashing in like waves, the way people often tend to say that it does, it's made itself at home deep inside of my bones. I close my eyes, and I'm right back to that night. I push it down and try to pretend that I'm not that frail, broken, little eighteen-year-old girl anymore. I tell myself I am now a strong twenty-four-year-old woman who has taken a terrible situation and pushed forward. I've made the absolute best out of my life, but reality cannot help but creep in when things get quiet. I'm lying to myself because I will always be that broken little girl who feels guilty for her entire family's death. All the walls I've built to protect myself have done the opposite; All I've actually done is cage myself into my own version of purgatory."

"The worst part is that I'm angry with them—my parents. I can't even bring myself to visit their graves. Because I'm so angry." I scoff at my admission. "How broken does one have to be to admit that they're angry with the deceased?"

Dr. Carr leans in, crossing her hands over her lap. "You are far from broken, Olivia Foley." I try not to roll my eyes. I'm not sure what irritates me more: the fact that she said my full name or that she apparently doesn't see me if she sees anything other than brokenness. Maybe I am completely wasting my time.

She apparently sees the irritation come over my face. "How do you not see your own strength? You have lost so much. You have been put through more than any human should be forced to endure..". She was able to get those words out before I cut her off.

"Exactly! You just clarified I'm broken," I say as I laugh and wave my hands, gesturing toward myself. I'm trying to make light of it as I prove my point.

She adjusts in her chair, throwing a soft grin my way as if it's a pity grin. She takes a deep breath.

"You have had every reason to let those events and hurdles break you, but you didn't. You try . You may not always succeed, but 'trying ' is the biggest battle, and you have never quit. If that isn't strength, I'm not quite sure what is. It would help if you accepted that not being okay is also okay. You aren't always expected to put on a brave face and pretend that your life is anything more than what it is." She purses her lips together, and they curl up at the ends, knowing she's proved her point.

I sit there, soaking in her words. How does she see strength? I'm not sure if I'm confused, frustrated, or enlightened. I sigh, letting my head fall to the back of the uncomfortable sofa in her office.

I like it here. The sound machine is soothing, albeit sometimes overpowering at the same time, and it always smells nice. Dr. Carr alone makes it an environment that's easy to unwind in.

We sat there in silence for a while. I like that she never rushes me to respond. She allows me time to process what she says, what I feel, and just in general. There are not a lot of people who do that nowadays. People are always in such a rush that everything has to be equivalent to light speed: reactions, responses, and overall conversations. Although I don't always like opening up, I appreciate that it's at whatever pace I need.

"Maybe you're onto something. Maybe! It's just that if this is considered strength, maybe I'm tired of being strong. Maybe I want to be weak for once? I don't know," I say as I look away. I notice the clock, and I point towards it. "It's about time. Can that be all for today?"

Dr. Carr takes a deep breath and chuckles softly as she shakes her head. It's her job to get deep- To get right down to the nitty-gritty and hash it all out. To figure out my damages and help me to repair the broken pieces. It isn't my intention to make things difficult or to be complicated. I'm not sure which is accurate at this point, but I am confident my persistent avoidance of the context getting too deep annoys her at this point. She's human. I'd be annoyed with me also if I were her.

I don't blame her for the look of frustration that she's very gracefully trying to cover up as she presses on.

"We still have twenty minutes remaining. Would you be okay with talking a little bit longer but changing the subject?"

"Yes, we can attempt that," I sigh, flashing a soft half-smile and letting out an awkward chuckle, attempting to keep the mood light.

She returns my smile and continues.

"A few weeks ago, you mentioned your dating life, but at the time, we weren't ready to touch much on that. Can we do that now?"

This is her idea of changing the subject. GREAT !

"I mean, there isn't much to discuss. I don't have a dating life," I continue, trying not to laugh. It isn't funny, but it's my coping mechanism to hide my utter embarrassment. "I'm not interested in having one. It's terrible to admit, but I have hooked up with random guys on drunken nights, but that's about the extent of my interest."

She doesn't skip a beat before she starts, "Why do you think it is that you feel more comfortable sharing the most intimate parts of yourself with someone, but you don't feel comfortable letting someone in emotionally?"

Did my therapist just call me out on my bullshit?

I can feel my pulse picking up speed, and the red flush in my cheeks must be the same color as the red of hot sauce because I can feel the sting blazing as it coats my face.

Her question is valid, and I try to remind myself of that. It still doesn't stop the tears that threaten to swell up in my eyes at the reality of her words.

Why can I share my body but not my heart and mind?

For a while, I didn't even do that. For years, to be exact. In more recent years, sex has become a release. For me, it's just a way to relieve stress and is not at all about emotional attachments.

I promised myself not to get involved with people I know. So, the guys I have slept with are random drunken one-night stands. It doesn't happen often.

"If I keep the expectations low and the connection strictly physical, there's less likely a chance of me getting hurt. I'm simply getting exactly what I need out of the situation. It works for me."

"Does it truly work, though? Or is it another way to attempt to forget about Ander? You've talked previously about feeling lonely. I could imagine this only making that feeling more valid."

Ander.

Just hearing his name causes my heart to flutter in my chest.

I scoff and try to hide my embarrassment once again. This feeling of being exposed and picked apart isn't easy. I know my decisions haven't always been excellent.

She interrupts my thoughts just then, "I just hate to see you building your walls so high that no one will ever be able to climb over them to get to the other side and truly see you. People deserve to experience you, and you deserve-"

"No one deserves to be burdened with the unhealed parts of me that even I wish I could escape." My head hangs a little lower with that admittance.

"That's the thing, Via. None of us are fully healed and completely whole. We are all damaged in our own ways. Some more than others. Believe it or not, it's easier to repair those damages when we feel connections and give ourselves a purpose to restore for."

I can't help but sigh. "I'll give it some thought," I say with a smile. One that is entirely too forced.

"That's all I can ask. No matter what you tell yourself, you are doing so well. I'm so proud of how far you've come and the work you've put into healing those parts of yourself that feel beyond repair. You need to remember that life is for the living, and you can't forget to do things that can bring you joy. You matter. "

"Got it, Doc!" I laugh as I grab my purse and start to get up. Our time still isn't up, but I've had enough for today. Dr. C doesn't stop me this time. She nods and starts to discuss scheduling my next session.