The sound of a throat clearing pulls me from the fog. Dr. Krazinski is once again looking at my wrist. Realizing my hand has found its way back, I force myself to release my hold and return my hand to the safe spot under my thigh.
“I’m not going to ask you to repeat the conversation you had at the police station. There’s no need for you to have to relive it all over again. However, I think now may be a good time to have the conversation about your scars. What do you think?”
I take some time to really think about my answer. I knew we’d been working up to this conversation. He’s let me put it off for months now, which I appreciate, but it’s no real surprise why he would think now would be the appropriate time. Due to my avoidance of the subject, I haven’t admitted to him yet that they aren’t all self-inflicted. Truthfully, I don’t think he even knows how extensive they really are. As much as I don’t want to have this conversation, I might as well do all my purging at once.
“I guess I should start by telling you that I wasn’t the one to put the first scars on my body. My first outwardly visible scars came from the same person that left my soul scarred beyond recognition.”
My throat feels like sandpaper. My eyes burn with tears that want to fall, but my body is too dried out to cooperate. I risk a glance up and notice the deep V in between Dr. Krazinski’s eyebrows. It’s the most noticeable reaction I’ve ever gotten from him.
“I didn’t realize your scars weren’t entirely self-inflicted.” For the first time since we started working together, he hesitates. “I don’t want it to seem like I don’t trust you to know your limits, but I also don’t want you to push yourself too far today, Cooper. I wouldn’t be a very good therapist if I didn’t ask. Are you sure that now is the time to be having this particular discussion?”
I do another check-in with myself before I nod slowly. “Yeah, Doc. I’m sure. I’m already split open. Once I shut the door on the past, I don’t see myself being able to reopen these wounds again for a long while. That said, I’m holding it together. I know I have Teddy and Max waiting for me at home. I know I can call Mom or Lane if I need them. I don’t think there will be a better time to do this.”
“Okay, Cooper. You’ve proven repeatedly that you are aware of your boundaries and that you won’t allow anyone to push you past them. I’m trusting that you will hold yourself to those samestandards. Can you assure me that if you need to stop, you will say as much?”
“You have my word.”
“Very well. Then let’s begin.” He readjusts his position, settling with his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap. “When did you receive your first scar?”
Surprisingly, I actually have to think about this. “I honestly don’t remember the first one. The physical abuse started months after the sexual abuse. After I learned to zone out; to act like it was happening to someone else while I hid safe in my mind. My lack of reaction took away his enjoyment.
??
“Similar to the sexual abuse, it started slow. He’d pull my hair harder than normal. He’d dig his nails into my skin. When I stopped reacting to one thing, he’d come up with another. As I got older, I started to realize I didn’t ‘owe’ him; that what he was doing was wrong. When I started to resist, things really got bad.
“Eventually, he was hitting me outside of the bedroom. I have scars from dishes, mirrors, walls. His fist, his boots, his blade. You name it, I have a scar from it. It wasn’t until they started to add up, until I started to notice them in the mirror, that they became an issue for me.
“Silas took pleasure in hurting me. Seeing my discomfort at the physical reminders of the pain he inflicted was simply the icing on the cake. He enjoyed looking at them so much, eventually I wasn’t allowed to wear a shirt in the house. He wanted unfettered access to them.”
??
My gaze remains locked on Dr. Krazinski’s shoes as I continue. “Once I was out of his house, I couldn’t stand the sight of myself. Every part of me had been touched and tainted by him. Discovering that I could escape the negative thoughtsby hurting myself was completely accidental. I was having a flashback one day when I tripped and scraped my hands on the concrete. My focus was drawn to the sharp sting, and my mind cleared for a couple minutes. When the memories started to push past the pain, I’d press on the scrapes and calm would sweep through me again. I started cutting because I didn’t know how else to deal. At least when I was hurting, I wasn’t stuck in my head; In my memories.
“It didn’t take long for me to notice that covering one of his scars with one of my own felt like taking back a piece of myself. I needed to erase him. His touch. So I kept cutting. Eventually it morphed into a coping mechanism for dealing with stress and my need for control.
“I don’t want to hurt myself. Not anymore. Since you and I started working together, I’ve gotten to where I don’t need to cut to manage my normal day-to-day stress, but when I’m faced with extreme stress, the need comes rushing back. I don’t want to live in fear that some major event is going to send me off the deep end.”
“Before today, when was the last time you felt a need to hurt yourself that you couldn’t control?”
“The day we met.”
“Before we started working together, what was the longest you went between self-harm episodes?”
This question startles me. It’s not really something I’ve ever thought about before. When the answer settles in my head, the reason for Dr. K’s question becomes clear. “I…I don’t think I’ve ever gone longer than a month before.” My eyes are wide when I meet Dr. Krazinski’s gaze, and the small smile he gives me has pride bursting in my chest.
“Cooper, you are making such amazing progress. You are putting in the work, and it shows. I think moving forward, we should start working on restructuring. You’ve spent so longbeing weighed down by your past that you can’t see the person you are now. Focusing on the progress you’ve made will help you become more confident in your coping skills. Speaking of coping skills, we spoke before about trying baking as an outlet for your need for control. How is that going?”
“Ah,” I say as I scratch my eyebrow. “Well, I haven’t actually tried it yet.” When he raises a brow, I continue. “I, uh, I don’t actually know anything about baking. Mom had only just started to teach Teddy and me how to cook when I left, and obviously Silas didn’t teach me anything.” His solemn nod distracts me enough to prevent a full-blown ramble.
“And the internet has never taught anyone anything.” My jaw drops at his sarcasm until a smirk takes over my face. It’s so rare that he lets his stoic professional facade slip. Seeing my grin, he closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge of his nose. Taking pity on him, I speak up. “You’re right, Doc. I have been putting it off. I don’t really like not being good at something, so I tend to avoid trying new things. That’s no way to live, though. I promise I will make a genuine effort some time soon.”
“I look forward to hearing about how it goes.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high. I am truly a terrible cook. Pancakes are my one specialty, but you should have seen them when I was first learning how to cook them. Poor Teddy was a saint who taste-tested all my failures. Luckily for him, I did eventually get them right. You might end up owing him some free sessions when he has to be my guinea pig again for baking.”
Dr. K releases a low chuckle. “Somehow, I think Everett will be just fine—but if not, at least he works in a perfectly good ER.”
“Careful, Doc. I might start to think you have an actual sense of humor buried in there.”
