Dean Gastright: OK, I promise
Day 4 (resumed)
I did speak to Joe.
He was very patient with me. Even when I cried like a kindergartner. Even when I told him I couldn’t see the point in continuing with his program.
He told me that of course I couldn’t see the point, because I was refusing to participate, binning the medication they were giving me, staying in my room, not doing anything to engage with this opportunity. No wonder I wasn’t feeling any benefit.
He had me there.
I’m still skeptical. And afraid. I know what they want me to think about, and face, and I don’t think I can do it.
But it turns out that that’s not the first step. The first step is to make me feel stronger, using medication and talking therapy (ha ha). Get me on an even keel.
He also pointed out that I have something to gain from trying, and nothing to lose if it doesn’t work out. Worst case scenario, I’m at least stably medicated, and that in itself could do some of the heavy lifting for me. He says I have the worst case of survivor’s guilt he’s ever seen, and considering where he works, that’s…given me pause. ‘Survivor guilt’. Trying the words on and they seem to fit.
I think of the terrible things I said to Liaden earlier, things she of all people absolutely did not deserve, and this seems the best way to make up for it.
So.OK.I’m in.
Day8
Liaden gave me a beautiful gift today.
She sent me a video link of her singingOutnumberedby Dermot Kennedy, with directions to listen to the lyrics. It was just her and her incredible voice, no instruments or anything else. Just her, singing for me, on a YouTube channel she created called, simply,For Dean.
It propped up something within me that had collapsed.
I’m such a lucky man.
And for the first time, I actually contributed to group therapy this afternoon. Talked about my motivation for being there, and what I wanted to work towards. So basically talked about Liaden a lot. The text-to-voice app doesn’t pronounce her name properly, but at least they all know she exists. I’m not ready to talk about Prom Night yet, but I feel like itmighthappen, like Icouldbe more ready soon.
I’ve been on my medication for just under a week, and the side effects are kicking in. Everything is louder, and my brain feels thick and fogged and busy. My head aches. My mouth is dry as a bone. I’m not hungry, even though the food here is pretty damn good. But the shakes and anxiety are nowhere near as bad as they were with the other antidepressants I was on before. I can maybe believe that I could be calmer in my day-to-day, in time.
And that’s everything right now.
Day17
Liaden has sent me a new video every other day. Just her, singing, occasionally playing the piano but more often than not unaccompanied. Sometimes the songs are meaningful, like the time she sent meAloneby Heart to remind me of the karaoke night, and making me think that I might actually be able toenjoy socializing for real at the other side of this program. She sangRunby Snow Patrol for me once, and I replayed it over and over, crying like a baby. Sometimes she sings something to make me laugh, like earlier this week when she sangI Touch Myselfby the Divinyls. And sometimes she just shows off her incredible voice, like this morning’s twofer when she sangDamn, I Wish I Was Your Loverfollowed immediately byBlack Velvet. “I couldn’t decide,” she says with a dimpling smile, “so this morning you get both.”
I love her so much. She’s my reason, for everything I’m scared to do and everything I’m dying to do. I miss holding her. I wouldn’t even try to make love to her, if she was here now. I wouldn’t use her to escape anything. With her in my arms, there’d be nothing I’d want to escape from. I’d just breathe in the smell of her hair and hold her tightly, happy just to be in the same room as her, in the same moment, the same point in time where she exists.
I’m still finding my feet with the meds, and I’ve had a few harsh panic attacks, but the side effects are slowly calming down, and the staff here have looked after me throughout it all. I’ve eaten healthier here in the past couple of weeks than I have in the past couple of years. I’m taking advantage of them having personal trainers, and every evening I’m pleasantly sore from exertion without being completely exhausted. Exercise isn’t a way to punish myself. It’s making me feel stronger. All of it. In every way.
Which means I’ve got to start the hard part of treatment soon.
They let you take things steadily here, but I can’t avoid it forever. They wouldn’t let me, anyway. And…I don’t think I want to avoid it anymore. That doesn’t mean I actually want to face it, but… My focus is now entirely on recovery, getting stronger, doing what I can to be better and do better.
For Liaden, sure. And Eli, and the rest of my family.
But most of all, for myself.
There’s a man here, Neill, who was in the army and is dealing with PTSD from his tours of duty in Iraq. He’s further along in his treatment than I am, but we both have Dr Sindri, and it’s been brilliant talking to someone who’s been through the steps ahead of me. He’s said Sindri is firm but fair, doesn’t let you get away with anything, and that facing the stuff we want to forget is hard as fuck…but totally and completely worth it. He even feels a sense of pride in taking each step and facing down his terror. And that’s been helpful to know.
I don’t want to do this. And, at the same time, I do.
I think it’s time.
