Three days in this place and I was finally scheduled to meet with my therapist. My head ached from detox, and I panicked at every slight noise. My fear about what would happen with my kids and my ex-husband guided every thought, every breath I took. Even though this rehab looked like a cozy vacation spot, aesthetics could not quell the anxiety. As I shuffled down the hall, I used an old mental trick - I replayed the ideal first date. I imagined the well dressed man, slightly unshaven, waiting at the bar as I arrived a bit too late, me in a slinky black dress with red glossy pumps, the small handbag big enough only for a few condoms and gel and a small amount of cash. I played out in my mind the music, the conversation, even the drinks I would order.
All I knew about the therapist was the room number - 326. I barely got through the first drink when I found the door and knocked lightly. The sound broke my first date reverie, and I shifted quickly into damaged mode to placate yet another therapist. When Ms. Frederick opened the door, the starkness shot out immediately. Unlike numerous other offices I’d been in before, this one offered no warmth. The sharp contrast to the rest of the rehab amused and confused me.
“Ms. Thompson, please, take a seat,” she directed.
Instead of a couch, there were two overstuffed, industrial type chairs in the corner. The white fabric blended into the wall, as did the white accessories around the room. Ms. Frederick, dressed in plain, generic clothes, almost blended into her background. When I tried to suppress a snicker, Ms. Frederick jotted something down on her notepad. The whole thing reminded me of a futuristic movie, one where all people have blended into nondescript characters.
I glanced at the digital clock above the door, the only bit of color in the room. 3:26. For an instant, my mind glitched. I couldn’t recall what time I was supposed to begin this session or what the room number was. It all blended together. I sat on the edge of my seat, stiff, ready to bolt.
We sat opposite each other for exactly ten minutes because when I looked at the digital clock, it showed 3:36.
Ten minutes? Seriously?
My mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. The white became so bright it too blended all together, and I disconnected from my current reality. I looked at Ms. Frederick. She looked blankly at me, no expression, no invitation.
What does she expect from me? I wondered.
3:40.
Can we seriously sit here for sixteen minutes? What kind of therapist is this?
The silence between us elongated, and my anxiety grew.
“What?” I asked rudely. Ms. Frederick said nothing, just jotted something down on her notepad again. Looking down at my nails, I tried to remember when I last had a manicure. From the looks of my cuticles, longer than I cared to admit.
“What,” I drawled, running my finger down his bicep slowly, “Do you expect will happen later?”
He smiled a slow, almost cryptic smile as he raised the bourbon to his lips. Running his own finger across the thin silver bracelet on my wrist, he leaned in close to my ear and whispered.
“Whatever I want.”
3:45.
Samantha said this was a unique rehab experience with an excellent track record. I had barely objected when she and my ex-husband pushed the commitment papers across the table to me. Voluntary commitment and my ex wouldn’t seek full custody. I didn’t really have a choice.
My ideal first date looped in my mind - the elevator ride up to the room with me pressed into the wall, his hand up my skirt, exploring. When was that last manicure?
3:50.
Oh my, this is gonna kill me.
Time to change tactics. “Ms. Frederick,” I began. “This,” I gestured about me, noticing my cuticles again, “Is not working for me. I don’t know what you want from me.”
More notes on the notepad.
3:52.
Leaning back into the chair, I took a breath. “You know we’ve been almost 30 minutes. You haven’t said a thing.” Ms. Frederick said nothing, just jotted notes on her pad.
“I’m a bit dazed and confused, so I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I said, glancing nervously toward the clock above the wall, back at the white, non descript art on the white walls. “This room makes me nervous.”
3:56.
Again, Ms. Frederick wrote on her notepad and looked at me. Then there she was, Samantha, her voice sounding in my head. Stop playing games and just get to the point. And I knew what I needed to do. Somehow, hearing her voice gave me courage, so I just dove in.
“In all the time I lived with Samantha, I never deluded myself that she was ignorant about what I did. She would always offer subtle hints, leave me literature about sex addiction and little notes about being there when I was ready to talk. Mostly, she took great care of my children and kept me focused enough to keep my job. I knew Samantha and Ileana talked at length about me in my absence, and it never bothered me. At times, I wanted to push the limits so drastically just so one of them would confront me,” I said, glancing nervously at Ms. Frederick as she bowed her head and wrote.
She looked up then and continued to look at me without moving, as though she was waiting for me to continue. I was scared to go further. I honestly didn’t know what to expect.
3:57.
“It was Ileana actually who finally did something. She followed me one night as I left the house late to meet a friend,” I paused. Friend? John? Person? “She followed me to the DPS office where I occasionally met a very attractive and emotionally twisted trooper. I’d been to that DPS office on other occasions - to renew my license, to take Taylor to get her license. But the thrill of sneaking in the back door late at night, well. . .” I drifted off as the scene began to play in my mind.
I’d met this trooper several months earlier as I waited for someone else at the bar in the Westin. He wasn’t in uniform, but something about his demeanor caught my attention, so I had eased next to him at the bar and caught his attention. When I found out he was a police officer, my mind raced with excitement as several scenarios played out. As my expected date walked to the bar, I bravely slipped my phone number to the trooper and practically begged him to call me. He texted me within the next hour, and we met up later in the parking lot as my other date ended. When I leaned in and told him what it would cost him for the service he wanted, he had told me he could arrest me. I dared him to, but instead he slipped the fifty dollars into my bra as I slid into position to service his needs. We met like this often over the next few months - sometimes in his squad car or in my car, sometimes in a parking garage elevator, and eventually at his office. It was forbidden, thrilling, completely illegal, and I loved every minute of it.
The night Ileana followed me, Samantha and I had fought. Actually, Samantha had offered an opinion to which I acted defensively. Similar situations always upset Ileana, and she had stormed out of the kitchen. I had no idea she would follow me.
“Ileana confronted me and the trooper as we were leaving the building. She was screaming about the law and his legal responsibility, about credibility, and finally, she pulled out the big guns and insulted him, going on about a man of his position taking advantage of a woman who had obvious ‘daddy issues’. I was mortified.”
Notes on the pad, silence, white, silence.
My heart pounded in my chest. I had said it out loud, well almost said it. I peered into Ms. Frederick’s face intently, waiting for a reaction, any reaction, but she was stoic. Now what? Where do I go from here?
4:15
I had said it, well almost said it, and the world didn’t end. The sound of my heart pounding began to lessen, and my breath slowly returned to normal. The world didn’t come to an end.
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