1047: Final Chapter

[This is the last part. Back to “normal” blogging tomorrow! Go back to the start!]

A moment’s silence.

“I’m not quite sure what else I can tell you,” I say.

“I think you’ve told me plenty,” the kindly voice tells me.

I’ve been coming here for a while now. I think it’s helping. Having a safe place in which I can tell my story has certainly helped me to leave things in the past and look forwards rather than backwards.

The owner of that kindly voice is the only person who has heard my whole story as I have just finished relating it. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about that. Sometimes I feel like I should tell Alice, or my parents, or my friends; other times I feel like I should keep this all to myself just in case it makes me seem like I’ve completely lost it.

I sigh to myself.

I did completely lose it. The story I’ve just told is proof of that, surely. Even looking back on it with the benefit of hindsight as I have been, I’m still not entirely sure what was truly real and what was simply the creation of my own mind.

“It all felt so real,” I say out loud.

“Oh?” says the kindly voice.

“Yes,” I say. “It was… like I was there. Well, I was there. But not. It was like it was really happening; like I was really there with those people.”

The voice says nothing. I know by now that this is one of those times I’m supposed to figure things out for myself, but I’m not sure I have the answers. I’ve started now, though, so I can’t just leave it hanging there.

“Perhaps they were real in some respects,” I continue. “I mean, obviously Alice is, but the Alice from another world? Perhaps she was real too.”

“Go on,” says the voice, its tone soft, warm and supportive.

“Aril was obviously someone I dreamed up from somewhere,” I say. “I don’t know where from. But he… I’m not sure. He always seems to come to mind when I’m trying to be calm and rational about things.”

“Yes,” says the voice. “I’d agree, from what you’ve told me. And what do you understand by that?”

I pause and think for a moment. It’s sort of obvious, looking back on it now. Perhaps it was even obvious to me at the time.

“Aril is part of me,” I say. “He’s an aspect of myself that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with, but part I wanted to explore.”

“Go on,” says the voice.

“He’s the kind who generally stays calm and rational under pressure,” I say. “But he’s not infallible. Even he could get rattled. When I… when he thought that part of me had disappeared he wasn’t sure what to do.”

I feel silly relating that now. I didn’t go anywhere. No-one went anywhere. But for that short period, I saw things from a different perspective. It helped me to understand a little better. Perhaps that was why it happened.

“And what about the others?” says the voice. It hasn’t changed its tone.

“Alice,” I begin. “The Alice who was with me through all that… she was the things I admired about my sister. Her strength. Her confidence. Her assertiveness. Everything that I’m not.”

I pause.

“Or rather, everything that I thought I could never be,” I correct myself. “Because I’m here now, of my own free will. I’m saying these things because I want to, not because I’m being forced to. That sounds like something she’d do.”

“I’d agree,” says the voice. “And Laura?”

I consider my next words for a moment.

“Laura was what she appeared to be,” I say. “Unpredictable. Acting without reason. But reliable despite all that.”

“And what did she represent?” says the voice.

“Chaos,” I say, without hesitation. “Or rather, the ability to deal with chaos. The ability to deal with the unexpected; the ability to accept the fact that sometimes things happen beyond your control; the ability to accept that sometimes things don’t make sense.”

There was another pause. I became aware of the ticking of the clock in the corner of the office.

A sudden slamming noise. I recognize this. It’s time to finish.

I sit up and look at the face of my therapist Dr. Noakes. His face matches his voice well. He’s a middle-aged man, slightly built, with thinning grey hair and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard covering most of the bottom of his face. I went through a few therapists before I settled on Dr. Noakes here, but there was something about him that set me at ease and made me feel like I could finally tell my story.

Now that I’ve finished telling that story, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.

“So what’s next?” I ask.

“That’s up to you,” says Dr. Noakes. “I know that being able to tell your story has probably been a big help for you. But is that all you want?”

“I–” I begin, but then trail off. I’m not quite sure what I want now.

“It’s okay,” he says with a friendly chuckle. “I don’t expect an answer now.”

That’s good, because I don’t have one to give.

“I’ll take a week or two,” I say. “Get my head together, figure out what I want and if there’s anything else I want to work on.”

I’m pretty sure there are things I would like to work on. The underlying things in my brain that led to this whole situation in the first place aren’t going to just go away overnight after all. But already, over the time I’ve been telling this story to Dr. Noakes — how long is it now? — I’ve been able to come to terms with some truths about myself that I wouldn’t have been able to accept before.

That’s good, I guess.

“Fine,” says Dr. Noakes. He extends his hand. I grasp it firmly and assertively — Other Alice would be proud of me — and shake it. “Make an appointment if or when you’re ready to come back and I’ll be happy to talk more.”

“All right,” I say. I release his hand and turn for the door. I open it.

Then I pause.

“Thanks,” I say. Then I walk out.

*

As I step out into the street, the bracing, cold air is refreshing. I start to walk.

I feel good.

It’s strange to think that way, but I’m suddenly conscious of it.

I actually feel good.

Up until now, I’ve been living my life feeling like something has constantly been pushing down on my from above. That weight on my mind made me want to hide away, to keep away from everyone and eventually led to the situation I just finished telling to Dr. Noakes. It made me want to keep my face hidden, to walk along the street staring at the floor.

But today I feel different.

Rather than turning my head downwards, I walk down the street with it held high, looking straight ahead. The streets are quiet at this time of day, but I don’t feel afraid of the few people around me; I don’t feel ashamed of myself; I don’t want to hide from them.

I know that this feeling will probably pass and that I won’t feel this good all the time. But for now I’m determined to enjoy it. I’m determined to embrace the person I am, and to move forward with my life.

I’m still faintly ashamed of what I put myself through — and of the way I treated my family — but ultimately, you can’t go back and change things that have already happened. You don’t get any do-overs, but you can get a second chance to make things right. And that’s what I intend to do.

I pull out my phone from my pocket, scroll through the address book and find my sister’s name. I tap the screen to call her, and she picks up after three rings.

“What’s up, Josh?” she says brightly.

“Nothing,” I say, a slight smile on my face.

Right then, it was true.