James Lockwood isn’t like other therapists.
Not that I would really know, given that my only interactions with ones have been online. Though I used a camera, it was a verysit in front of a screen with the office behind themsetting. The whole thing was quite formal. It wasn’t true of all of them, but I often got the sense that they wanted to hear themselves talk, in a hurry to diagnose me and call me fixed.
Maverick and Scythe went to the clubhouse as soon as Lockwood arrived. I told them they didn’t have to leave, but Scythe said I’d probably feel more comfortable speaking alone, and at any rate, I’d be able to concentrate fully without background distractions.
They did promise that they’d be back as soon as I called Maverick to tell him the appointment was over. I still felt like I was chasing them out of the house, but Scythe bribed me by telling me that he had a bunch of errands to do anyway and might as well make the best of having a few hours free.
I had expected Lockwood would want to sit somewhere and have me sit or lie across from him because all of my therapist knowledge came from movies, but instead he asked me where I’d be most comfortable.
I wanted to be with the cats, and he thought that was great.
He’s sitting across from me on the couch in the basement, holding a purring Pumpkin. I have Sprite stretched out all down the length of me.
While I explain everything from the night of the assault, to waking up in the hospital, to all the subsequent years after, Lockwood listens without asking any questions. He seems perfectly content to just sit and stroke the cat.
Despite his somewhat severe appearance, and his all black button up shirt, slacks, and shoes, Pumpkin immediately liked his vibe. If my cat trusts this man, that’s good enough for me, even if he does kind of have the chiseled features and lean bearing of the grim reaper.
When I’m done, Lockwood sits and lets the whole thing process for a few moments. I caress Sprite’s head, playing with her silky ears while she snores in soft little bursts.
“I imagine that you’ve been through this fairly in-depth with other therapists.”
“Yeah.” I focus even harder on Sprite and say, “That’s definitely true.”
“My approach is somewhat revolutionary, but I’m sure that you’ve heard a lot of this before. Will you stick with me just long enough to hear out my train of thought before you tell me that I’m long-winded and boring?”
I choke back a surprised laugh and glance up. “I’m sure you’re not long-winded or boring, but if I don’t think we’re getting anywhere, I’ll say something, in a nice way.”
He nods. His hand strokes all down Pumpkin’s back. It’s shocking that the cat hasn’t started drooling yet, he’s so comfy. He’s shedding all over Lockwood, but the man doesn’t seem theleast bit bothered about his hair suit. “One of the theories that many therapists have is about trauma being the root of all ills. If you process your trauma, turn it over and over, wrench it inside and out, look at it from every angle, you’ll understand it and you can move forward. I think that’s making trauma out to be too simple. I don’t think that trauma is the event, or what happened in the first place. I think it’s the aftermath.”
I bite down on my lip. I’ve heard some of that before, but I’ve never thought of trauma as everything that’s come after. I think of that night. Being followed. Cornered. His hand around my throat. His hot breath on my cheek. The utter terror. The first blow. The pain. How I thought I would die.
“Like any injury, you need time to heal, and every person’s body is going to require different ways and different timelines to mend itself. It’s important to process what happened and understand it, but it’s even more important to figure out how to live life with the aftereffects. Do you think about the actual night? Dream about it? Does it give you anxiety? Are you afraid that what happened will happen again?”
Those are hard questions to answer. “I guess I do. I mean, at first, it came back to me all the time, but over the years, it’s mostly gone. I’ve cycled through all the emotions. I asked myself why it happened, but I’ve realized that bad things just do happen. But the realization didn’t bring me any closure. In the end, I was more angry that I couldn’t be some version of normal again. I had my life stolen, and I couldn’t take it back for myself.”
“I hear that.”
Lockwood waits for me to go on.
“I try to argue with myself when I start thinking unproductive, intrusive thoughts. I’ve accepted that whathappened, happened, and I can’t change it. I accepted that my mind will give me thoughts about how useless and worthless I am, and that’s just not true. Those thoughts might be there, but I try and say, so what? I don’t have to listen to them. I’m not going to panic about not being able to stop some of what I’m thinking.”
“That’s a good first step. It takes some people a lifetime to realize that they’re not just a collection of their thoughts.”
It’s harder to admit this next bit. My pulse picks up, but I try to ignore the feelings of guilt and shame that gnaw at me. They’re unreasonable. Lockwood isn’t here to judge me. He’s not going to tell me that I’m pathetic or that I need to be fixed. I wouldn’t be talking to a therapist if I had it all figured out.
“I have almost no one to rely on. My other therapists have said that I need a stronger support system, but I can’t just invent that from out of nowhere.” The words are ash in my mouth despite my determination to be honest. “I’m in support groups online for other people who deal with this, and it’s helped somewhat, but not nearly enough to help me fix myself. If fix is the right word. Fix the situation… or stop letting it control me. However that should be phrased.”
“I don’t think that you’re locked inside of an apartment or this house, or whatever small, covered building you might find that you can count on as a safe space. I think most fears trap a person in their mind.”
“I understand that and I agree.” I can’t help heaving a frustrated sigh, but Lockwood’s dark eyes and hard face stays remarkably even, as though he thinks that I have every right to feel annoyed as fuck in the moment. I’m sure he’s someone who would tell people to feel what they need to feel and release it. “If I know all of that, why can’t I just… move on?”
“While it’s important to face what happened and to think it through, reliving what happened and even understanding it fully or making peace with it isn’t going to help those wounds properly heal.”
That’s interesting. Of course all the doctors I’ve talked to have recommended that I process it and try to get past it, but I don’t think that’s the only thing Lockwood is getting at.
“The thing about physical wounds is that the brain is the control center of the body. It tells your body what to do, how to act, when to move, and how to heal. It’s responsible for all your thoughts and all your systems, including your nervous system. You’ve been in shock. You’ve been in survival mode. I know that you’ve heard those terms.”
“I’ve definitely heard that said before, with a whole host of other stuff to describe that shock and survival sensation.”
