Daddy's Angel (Weeping Willow Book 1) Page 6

  CHAPTER 9

  PSYCHO BABBLISTS

  HE WAS A FUNNY LOOKING MAN, TALL AND skinny, so skinny you could count nearly every bone in his face and body. I could tell he was genuinely concerned and his interest wasn’t purely clinical. Though he seemed like a competent doctor and a good man, I knew I couldn’t bare my soul to him, at least not everything.

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen a psychologist?”

  “Y-yes, never needed the witch doctor m-mumbo jumbo before,” I stammered.

  “Well I’m here to listen and to help.”

  “Look! I’m not into all this psycho babblist nonsense. How are you supposed to help when I don’t know what to tell you?”

  Lifting an eyebrow, he said, “Just talk. I’m trained to discern the underlying issues and explain them to you.”

  “Doc, I’m not trying to be rude, but until I’m able to get these withdrawal symptoms under control there won’t be much more conversation than this right here. If you really want to help, give me something for that.”

  “I’m sorry, I just think at this point your body needs to do its own drug intervention program before we add more narcotics to your system. Give it a little while and we’ll get you fixed up… Ok?”

  “Whatever. Came here to get help with getting sober and cleaning up my life, didn’t know that meant bearing my soul to some low grade shrink in his first year out of an online degree.”

  “I understand your anger and your resistance to open up and talk to me. Give it time, but, I assure you I’m more than qualified to help. I could go into all my credentials but I won’t waste our time.”

  He could tell I was being honest with what little information I gave him, but he also knew I was holding back. I couldn’t tell him of the real nightmares that haunted my sleep and had begun to bleed through to my waking moments as well, he would never understand.

  So this became my normal ritual, days and nights filled with dreams and sickness, waking up on the floor or being dragged back to bed, and my morning sessions with the shrink who was still unable to get me to open up. Little bits and pieces of the last dream were starting to filter in. Yet, I was still confused as to their meaning. The only thing I knew for sure was that there was no way in hell I could tell this man, this psycho babblist, a word about the dreams. I would keep them hidden from him, and everyone else. They would be my most guarded secrets, buried within my soul as deeply as I could possibly bury them.

  I did tell him of my wife and daughter. I told him of their smiles, of their love, of how they lived, and lastly, of how they died. I told him how my grief led to a silly plan of drinking myself into oblivion, only so I could join them in death, but how my cowardice prevented the final execution of that plan. I told him how their memories stalked my dreams and I revealed to him that they still do. I hoped that by opening up a little, giving some responses, whether they were completely truthful or not, and telling him all of that, he might ease up on his interrogation and quench his curiosities. After all, nothing I said couldn’t already be found in my charts.

  He must have bought my partial truths because he never again questioned me on what the orderly had claimed. He wanted to keep seeing me on a more regular basis and promised to help with my sleeping and comfort. So an unhealthy regimen of shots was added to my IV. Like clockwork, at different intervals, I received an assortment of medications. There was something for everything, one to help my body’s natural chemicals clean out my system - though I was doing pretty well with that one on my own - several to help with pain, muscle relaxers, one to help reset my mind’s ability to think for itself, one more to help me sleep, and finally a shot to settle my stomach. Each one was pretty good shit all on its own, but when combined, I was feeling no pain. An army of cannibals could’ve used me for their lunch buffet and I would’ve only smiled and said, “Hey, you missed a few pieces.”

  No joke! I was flying high on a solo trip that I never wanted to end. He offered to help me sleep and make me more comfortable. Well, the man kept his promise!

  I was so doped up from day to night that I was just sleep walking through the hours. I could barely remember eating or taking a shit. My head was mush; my thoughts were sporadic at best. I’m not sure how I was even able to speak. Walking was an unachievable fantasy. My daily mind meld sessions with Ichabod Crane the psychologist couldn’t have been productive since my participation was that of a vegetable.

  Through blurry eyes I could see the orderly coming in the door. I knew it was time for my visit with the shrink and my thoughts were dancing everywhere. I still didn’t know what use these visits served since all my answers were covered in slobber and leaked down my chin with the drool escaping from my mouth. The orderly sat me up in bed and straightened my clothes to make me a little more presentable, he then wiped my face in a useless attempt to clear the drool from my chin. He put me in the wheelchair and pushed me through the room. As we neared the door, there was a blast of light and everything stopped. All the patients and staff were frozen, they couldn’t talk or move. They looked so silly with their faces trapped in half expressions melted on them, yet, I was free.

  Those sweet words entered my mind. “You must live, you must live. Daddy you must live!”

  Through the smile now beaming across my face I saw my little angel appear and walk toward me. She was beautiful! Her eyes were sparkling and full of life, those cute dimples peered out to say hello, and her amazing smile stared back at me. For a minute, I felt like none of this was real, that I wasn’t in this place pumped full of narcotics and that the events of the past year had never really happened at all. For a moment, I was happy again!

  She steadily made the last remaining steps between us and was now standing directly between my legs. Her face was glowing, full of kindness and love. “You have to live Daddy. You have to live for Momma, you have to live for me, and most importantly you have to live for yourself. I understand your reasons for being here, I know you’ve been hurting and you can’t see past our deaths, but, you are still not living.”

  “But, baby, how am I supposed to live without you and your mom? I can’t do it alone, I need help. I poisoned myself with alcohol and couldn’t deal with my heartache by myself.”

  “Daddy, you did right. That was just the start of getting better, but the drugs they call medicine that are now flowing through your system are just as bad as the alcohol you enjoyed so much. These drugs coursing through your veins and numbing your body are blocking your ability to feel, to heal, and to recover. They are filling your mind, rendering it useless and incapable of making reasonable decisions or holding a single thought.”

  “What am I supposed to do, then? How do I get better?”

  “Daddy, that’s why I’m here. Your little angel is going to take care of you and you won’t need their pills and shots anymore.” She sighed… “Are you ready?”

  I didn’t have time to answer or even attempt to open my mouth. She wrapped her arms around my neck and held me close. I had dreamed of this feeling since the accident, and tears gushed from my eyes. I could feel the warmth just radiating from her face. She was passing her light, her innocence, and her energy to me through her gentle embrace.

  She smiled. “This is to push the tears back and force your smile back on your face.”

  Her very essence was moving into my body and all the poisons were backing up and looking for any escape route they could find to avoid contact with her pure light. They were pouring out of my body, through every pore, draining on to the floor and then quickly evaporating from sight. I could sense my strength returning and I knew my body was being healed and becoming healthy again. I hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

  As the remaining toxins evacuated my system, I looked at my little girl, my beautiful daughter, her Daddy’s angel and tears of joy escaped my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.

  “Baby, you always knew when I needed a hug.”

  I saw her smile as she began to speak, “Daddy, you must l
ive! You must live for Momma, you must live for me, and most importantly you must live for yourself! Daddy, listen well because I don’t have the time to repeat myself. You are now strong and healthy; your mind is clear and your body is now able to lead you. There’s a secret to the mark you were given and you-”

  “Baby, what mark? I don’t know what you are talking about. What secret?”

  “There is no time for questions! Don’t interrupt and just listen. This will all make sense later. You must uncover the secret of the mark to clear your soul. I know you’re confused and you don’t have access to the memories that can unlock the answers yet, but you will, one day, you will understand. The mystery will no longer be hidden or unclear as all will be revealed in due time. I love you and will always be Daddy’s Angel but I’ve done everything I can for now. My time here is short as I have used the last bit of my essence to return and help you. My light will go out and it may never be seen again. Remember, discover the secret to the mark! You must live Daddy, live for Momma, live for me, and most importantly live for yourself. Find the secret to the mark!”

  I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye or I love you or anything else because she disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared, I feared as the brilliant light dissipated into the air that I would never see her again.

  ***

  Everything went back to normal, the patients and staff returned to their activities. The orderly pushing me was just whistling away as we went through the door.

  Though I was starting to get use to these little visits, I was still somewhat in shock. What was this mark? How did I get it? What was the secret and how was I supposed to figure it out? I didn’t even know where or how to start. I resigned myself to just waiting for the day everything became clear and was revealed as my sweet little angel had suggested.

  The psychologist knew right away that there was something different about me and immediately proceeded to grilling me on how this change came about.

  I just shrugged. “I don’t know, you’re the psycho babblist so you figure it out.”

  He wasn’t happy with that answer, but when I stood up and kicked the wheelchair sailing across the room, that really got his attention.

  I bluntly said, “I’m finished with your fucking mind numbing medications and I damn sure don’t need or want these little visits anymore!”

  Then, I just turned and stormed out of the room. As I passed the orderly I said,

  “I’ll be in my room and I don’t want to be disturbed, understand?”

  He just kept smiling and whistling.

  I guess my fit scared the shrink into saying I was better, or at least convinced him enough that I was done with his brain probing, that he released me from any more of our meetings. His eyes told me that he still believed I was holding something back, some secrets that I wasn’t ready to reveal, but he never spoke of it again.

  I was starting to believe the worst was past me now, and I could actually face the world and reality again. I accepted the fact that I had done this to myself, and that it would be a little while longer stuck in this hellhole prison of a place before I would be completely and fully whole again. I accepted that the therapy might help keep the fog out of my head. I knew that I needed to join in on the joint discussions and take part in the exercises to continue healing and to learn how to interact with others again.

  Most of all, I knew I needed to concentrate on unlocking my memories, so I could begin to understand the secret behind the mark, and just exactly what the hell the mark itself was.

  CHAPTER 10

  MOVING ON

  NORMALLY, REHAB IS ONLY A THIRTY to ninety-day program but the first month or so of my stay was spent on medication. So I was a late bloomer in the whole therapy session game.

  The administrator informed me, “Your progress, being hampered by the severe state of emergency that your physical condition and mental stability was in when you arrived and the extensive and aggressive course of medical intervention that was necessary just to save your life, wasn’t where it needed to be at this point in the process. So, your mini vacation will have to be extended by an additional thirty days.”

  It wasn’t really something she had to point out, but why do they have to make people feel inadequate? Using big words straight out of the dictionary, did she think it would make her sound smarter, or just that it would reiterate her power over me? Either way, I accepted her clinical diagnosis.

  With the poison absent from my system and the treatments doing their best to control all the withdrawal symptoms, I was able to start moving around on my own and checking this place out, for the first time.

  Now that my mind was clearer, my memories were more like flashes that didn’t seem real. You know how on a VCR tape when you use them over and over again, recording something and deleting it several times, how the images get imprinted on top of each other and become ghost images? Before long you can’t tell if what you’re seeing is really what’s recorded or just a leftover vision from an earlier recording. That’s what my memories felt like to me…a jumbled-up mess that I couldn’t figure out.

  I noticed that the facilities were actually nice, the patients were taken care of extremely well, and the members of the staff were normal, happy people. My first impression of it had been a complete fabrication by my overly intoxicated imagination. This brought a sigh of relief but also embarrassment, as the memory of my first night now weighed heavily on my mind. I thought about that poor secretary who checked me in - at least she tried to check me in - and what a mess I must’ve been, curled up on the floor spooning with her trash can. I hoped I would be able to apologize to her. Though I was sure it had happened many times before and probably since, I wanted to look her in the face and say I was sorry.

  The next couple of months just flew by. It’s amazing how strong your senses become when you’ve ignored and abused them for a while and how sensitive they are as well. Everything seemed new and fresh. The sunshine was brighter and warmer, the flowers were beautiful and smelled incredible, the sound of birds singing was so sweet, and all the simple pleasures of life were even more enjoyable now.

  On the same note, all the bad things were also intensified. Certain high pitched sounds split my head wide open, and some odors stuck with me throughout the day. It always made me think of the rancid aroma of whiskey being expelled through my skin as I was going through detox. That smell forced an immediate response from my stomach. The nurse had explained how all my senses would be stronger and could cause the reactions I was now experiencing. She had also said that my senses had been dulled to the point that they might not fully recover, but that was an extreme side effect of alcohol poisoning. The senses would usually either snap right back into normal rhythm or gradually return, but when they did, they would be stronger and more sensitive than they ever were.

  The final stage of therapy, after all the classes, one on one sessions, and group sessions, was to give a brief, but detailed account of how I ended up in rehab. Seemed simple enough. An easy assignment, right? Yet, I knew if I came clean and was totally honest about how the dreams went down and how I received my scars… they wouldn’t let me leave. No! As soon as I completed the course and they checked me out of rehab, there would be orderlies waiting with a straight jacket to escort me to the east wing of the facility for a whole different kind of treatment, a treatment that I would definitely enjoy less.

  The big day came and went with no hiccups. As luck would have it, the same secretary who registered me in was now checking me out. I was able to apologize, which she accepted without hesitation.

  “Well, at least you’re leaving here in a lot better shape than when you arrived, and now my trashcan won’t have to file sexual harassment charges against you.”

  I laughed. “There wouldn’t have been much harassing with the shape I was in. It would’ve done better to call Mr. Clean in for a cleanup on aisle one.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle as a smile crossed her lips, and all she cou
ld do was wave. At least she was joking about it and trying to make me feel better about that first night, but those words stuck with me and I wondered if I really was in better shape. I knew I was in better health and I had a newfound outlook on life as well as an even better appreciation for what the future held for me, but, was I really in better shape mentally and emotionally? The unknown answers to those questions were scary and somewhat offsetting. Yet, I was happy to be leaving that place and eager to venture out into the world in search of the answers.

  I walked the short distance to the front entrance, down the steps to the awaiting taxi, and never looked back. Rehab was now in the rearview mirror and I was driving straight into the great unknown of my future.

  Back home again. I was feeling good about the treatment I received and the clarity in the direction I was heading. I was thankful that I was no longer a prisoner to booze and was praying I would never fall back under its control. Yet, in the back of my mind, there was an uneasy feeling. A feeling I just couldn’t shake. A worry had found its way into my head and taken root, growing and festering every day.

  The clinic said I was ready and even awarded me a certificate of completion as proof. Sure! While I was surrounded by a small army of doctors, therapists, and staff always armed with syringes loaded with powerful drugs, I could handle it. I wasn’t so convinced now that I was by myself, away from the safety net the clinic provided, with only me to rely on. Trusting me is what made this whole escapade possible. I mean, had my body and mind truly been allowed the proper amount of time to heal? If the dreams returned, was my mind stable enough not to lose sight of reality? Would I be strong enough to endure those trials again? I didn’t have the answers, and I hoped I’d never have to learn what they were.

  Though the dreams never mutated, they were still all too real for my comfort. I took no chances! I was always aware of my surroundings when entering a room. I made quick checks to make sure everything had remained in its original place. Overly cautious or just paranoid, I wasn’t sure, but there was only a thin line that separated the two.