A Common Thread
by
E.C. Black
Smashwords Edition
*****
Published By:
E.C. Black on Smashwords
A Common Thread:
Copyright © 2011 by E.C. Black
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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CHAPTER 1
The room smelled slightly of tangerines, not the fruit but like an air freshener. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t great. Rachel thought maybe it was a calming mechanism for people like her. “Well, who knows?” She wondered. Rachel looked around and saw some magazines, three other chairs, and a small square table with a vase and flowers. That was really all there was to the room. Maybe a half empty room also was a calming mechanism for people like her.
Rachel started to feel handicapped or something. She wasn’t really a strange person, she just felt like one because her emotions were stronger than other people’s emotions. Maybe it was a good thing sometimes, but maybe not. It sure didn’t feel good all the time. Rachel had the ability to read between the lines, and in her opinion, other people didn’t. They ignored things and didn’t see the truth. It seemed to be the root of all her problems. Just thinking about all of this was leading to one of her daily occurrences when everything started to feel unreal and out of place. Her heart was racing almost like she was about to have a heart attack. This led to her conclusion that she was going crazy and losing her mind. She used to worry when this happened, but after eight months she got used to them. They are now a normal and expected part of her life on a daily basis.
Rachel sat waiting and hoped she could get it over with soon. Her big brown eyes soaked in her surroundings, as the bright fluorescent lights reflected her shiny black hair. As usual she was dressed in black and had her eyes lined and reddish-black lipstick on.
Rachel was feeling scared and unsure of what would happen on the other side of the door. Would it be uncomfortable and tedious? Would she run away? Would the sessions help her? She had all these questions and was always too afraid to confront them. Now she was 22 years old, and she finally found the courage. She decided it was time now especially with what had happened last Thursday night. Just then a man opened the door. He was tall and thin, most likely in his late forties, and he was wearing a gray suit. He moved aside to let a woman out of the room. She was in her forties, heavy-set, and made Rachel feel relieved that someone had made it through alive. Maybe she would make it too. After she left, the man then shook Rachel’s hand as his steel gray eyes looked into hers. He appeared reserved and professional. Rachel didn’t feel totally comfortable, but she wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. She sat down on a black leather couch, put her black shoulder bag on the cream colored carpet, and looked at the man. He stared back at her with studious eyes and an unemotional expression. He did, however, look ready to listen and absorb anything and everything that may be said to him in the next hour.
Not knowing where to start made her feel as if her voice box had frozen. She continued to sit and look blankly at Dr. Hoffman, wondering if the awkwardness of the silence made him feel uncomfortable too. It seemed that it didn’t, and that he was accustomed to awkward silences. He then asked, “So what brings you here today?”
The silence continued, and Rachel did not know where to begin.
“I’m not really sure.” She replied in an attempt to break the ice. “That must sound so stupid, I mean not being sure.”
“Why would it sound stupid?” Dr. Hoffman asked in a monotone voice.
Rachel took a deep breath. “Other people probably come in and know exactly what the problem is and then you fix it. But with me it seems different and complicated. I don’t even know what the problem is. How sad is that?” Rachel looked away, frustrated with herself.
“Well, it sounds like you think I’m judging you. Do you think I’m here to judge you?” he asked not in an accusing tone, but simply out of concern and interest.
“Hmmm I don’t know, but put it this way, everyone else judges me, and you are about to hear my life story, so you will probably judge me too.”
“I see,” he responded nodding his head slowly.
Dr. Hoffman continued to look at her straight in the eyes. If they gave out awards for eye contact he would definitely win first place. He continued to stare into her eyes making her a bit uncomfortable. It was like he was undressing her with his eyes, but not in the way a strange guy would at a bar. He was mentally undressing her thoughts and emotions, and trying to read her mind. It was making her feel self-conscious and claustrophobic all of a sudden.
“Rachel, are you ok?”
Breathing heavily she managed to get a few words out. “I, uh I feel strange,” she answered. Her heart was pounding once again, and everything felt unreal. “Maybe I’m sick or dying.” She hadn’t realized she said this out loud until Dr. Hoffman asked, “Explain that to me more. You feel like you are dying?”
Raising her voice, and throwing her arms up into the air, she said, “These feelings! I can’t stand them anymore! They happen all the time and I can’t take it. I don’t know what they are but I feel like I’m dying or something. My heart races and my head gets dizzy like I’m going crazy.”
“Well explain them a little bit more to me.”
“What do you mean? I can’t explain them. They just happen.” He sure knew how to ask probing questions.
“When you say they, who or what are you referring to?”
Boy, he just doesn’t give up, Rachel thought to herself, but that is why she was there in the first place, to be analyzed.
“I said I don’t know. I mean I know but I can’t explain it.” she answered curtly.
“Rachel, let’s take a step back. Take a deep breath first of all.”
She did what he asked her to do. After all, it was similar to smoking a cigarette. The deep breath helped her gain control over her racing heart. She took another one as she closed her eyes while she breathed in, and then pursed her lips and blew the air out as if she were exhaling smoke from her cigarette. She slowly opened her eyes as Dr. Hoffman just stared in silence. Whereas other people in her life would be confused and worried about her right now, he was calm and reserved. Nothing seemed to phase this man.
“Rachel, describe these attacks you are having.” He said slowly and in that monotone voice.
She sighed reluctantly and answered, “Okay, well, I guess if I had to describe them, I would say that they happen when I get nervous about something. Like I’ll be thinking, and then I get overwhelmed. My heart pounds first and then my head feels light and I get dizzy. Sometimes if it lasts long enough my palms get sweaty too. The worst part for me is my heart racing like I’m dying or something, but then everything stops and I calm down.” She realized suddenly that she had been rambling.
“How long do they last?”
“Um, 30 seconds to like a few minutes.” As Rachel explained all of this, Dr. Hoffman still didn’t seem surprised or worried. While she felt both of these emotions, the fact that he did not show any sign of them made her feel calmer. She guessed if it were something really urgent, he would have brought her to the emergency room already.
“I’m beginning to see what this is all about. It seems to me that these feelings that you are losing sight of reality are panic attacks and anxiety. There is medication that could be used, but for now I’d like to continue seeing you on a weekly basis and to use cognitive behavior therapy first. We need to keep discussing these attacks and anything else you may want to talk about.”
“I don’t know about all this. I really don’t trust anyone anymore and I don’t like to tell people things about myself.” She thought after she said that, he would say it was useless to be there and he’d send her home. But instead he surprisingly responded, “I can understand how you may be feeling this way, and I’m not asking you to tell me everything. But you came here today by your own will and that shows that maybe you’re ready to start sharing your thoughts. It’s great that you’ve taken this first step in getting better. And this is completely confidential. As an outsider who is not involved in your life, I can help you in an objective way.”
As she sat staring at the cream colored carpet, she thought about all that had been said, and Dr. Hoffman continued to observe her. He noticed she was thin, pale and had a rebellious style. Her clothes were black, and her eyes were fully lined with eyeliner. Her long dark hair added to her mystery. Serious and introspective, her eyes reflected a depth of intense thoughts. He could see that she was very intelligent and a deep thinker.
“Rachel, you haven’t spoken for a few minutes,” he said calmly.
“Oh uh,” as she continued to glare seriously into space. She lifted her head to glare at the light blue wall that surprising seemed to calm her down a bit.
“It’s now 6:30 and our session has come to an end. I’d be happy to schedule another appointment for next Tuesday, same time.”
She waited for what must have been another minute and answered, “I guess it can’t hurt. I mean this wasn’t too bad.” Rachel was aware of her jaded responses but did not care to add diplomacy. She just didn’t have the energy to be flowery around people she didn’t really know or anyone for that matter. After all, she may change her mind and never see him again, so what was the point?
“Ok then, next Tuesday at 5:30. See you then.”
Dr. Hoffman stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it for her as she snuck by him not looking back. She felt a little embarrassed that he knew about her panic attacks. Nobody else knew, and Rachel liked to keep it that way. After all, what if they thought she was a freak? What if she was a freak?
She walked through the tangerine scented waiting room passed another woman waiting to see Dr. Hoffman. Rachel couldn’t even look at her and felt even more embarrassed like the woman knew her secret too. She opened the door and ran down the stairs, stepping out into her cold, dark and dreary existence.
CHAPTER 2
It was January 21st, the time after the holidays but right in the middle of winter. It was snowing, and it was Rachel’s day off from work. She lay in bed while the snow came down all morning. It was one of those days where she didn’t want to do anything and she really did not have to either.
Debbie wasn’t home yet, so she was most likely at her boyfriend’s apartment. If she wasn’t at his apartment then Rachel could assume something awful had happened to her. It was not unusual these days for Rachel to assume the worst. Living with Debbie was working out well for the past six months. She was rarely ever home, and got her rent paid on time. The dishes piled up, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. After all, Debbie was doing well for herself. She was 20, lived on her own, and attended City College while working for a temporary agency to pay her bills.
They led very different lives, and it made Rachel hesitant to live with her at first, but their opposite schedules seemed to work well for them. Rachel had the mornings to herself and worked in the restaurant at night. This way Debbie could study in the apartment while she was at work. The system worked well, but Debbie and her weren’t that close.
The first thing Rachel did in her bright and shiny room was light a cigarette, which was the first thing she did every morning. Her big feather comforter was keeping her warm in her full sized bed as the sun shone through the white curtains. It was a cozy day; a sunny but snowy Sunday morning in the city. Rachel was snug in bed as the early risers honked their horns frantically in the streets of New York City. The noise was, in a way, comforting because it was an indication that life on Earth was continuing. The motors and horns all blended together creating a type of white noise that she was used to.
As she puffed on a cigarette she thought about how grateful she was for the apartment she lived in. At least she had that in this crazy world; a nice place to come home to at night. The rent worked out great considering she had her own room and Debbie used half the living room for her space. The rent altogether was less than $1000 a month, which was a steal in Brooklyn. She could thank Debbie’s father for that since he had connections and helped his daughter get this place. Luckily Rachel found the roommate advertisement at the time she needed a place to live.
Even though she had a place in New York and a job, she still felt unfulfilled. Not really with what she was or wasn’t doing, but in general. The people in her life were not satisfying to her. Rachel felt like she wasn’t going anywhere with her goals and dreams. The dreadful thoughts filled her mind as she lit up another cigarette.
Rachel tossed her comforter off and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She felt wide-awake and really hungry for an omelet and toast. Last night was Saturday and she hadn’t even gone out. She just didn’t feel like it most of the time even though there was usually something going on. Sometimes when she did go out she felt even lonelier being around people. Most of her friends didn’t even notice that there was something wrong with her because they were too rapped up in their own lives.
Rachel finished cooking breakfast and sat down to eat while thoughts of Dr. Hoffman ran through her mind. Five days passed since she had seen him, and two more days would pass until their next meeting. Rachel wondered if she really wanted to reveal everything to him. Perhaps only time would tell if she would be able to do this, and there was really nothing she had to lose at this point. As she thought about all of this, she looked at the kitchen counter and her eyes met the cutting knives and then they glanced at the veins in her wrist. She dreaded those moments when her thoughts were out of control. Rachel could only hope they would stay thoughts and not become reality. Pure hopelessness was beginning to fill her mind.
These uncontrolled thoughts were the ones that led her to go see a psychologist. She figured he had nothing to do with her life and could help her escape from the traps her mind was in. Finishing the last of her toast, she didn’t feel up to doing the dishes right then. She went back to her room, plopped onto the bed and Sunday seemed to end faster than it began.
CHAPTER 3
Tuesday it was time to see Dr. Hoffman again, and at 5:00 Rachel headed out to his office. Once she arrived, she opened the door to the tangerine smell and sat in the same seat as last week.
After a few minutes a slightly overweight middle-aged man walked out of the office. He did not look at her but walked straight to the other door and down the stairs.
Dr. Hoffman stood holding the door open. She walked in and sat on the couch just as unsure of what would happen on this visit.
Rachel sat staring at the floor when Dr. Hoffman’s calm monotone voice asked, “So how was your week Rachel?”
“It was average, nothing really good or bad happened. Maybe when nothing happens it could be considered really good.”
“What do you mean by that?” Dr. Hoffman said as he sat down in the brown leather chair that is found in most psychologists’ offices.
“You know, like if nothing happens my life stays calmer. But as soon as something out of the ordinary happens it’s always something crazy.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the doctor’s usual rebuttal brought upon a question.
“Can you give me an example of that?” He stated his well-rehearsed line again.
An answer popped into her head the instant he asked for one. But it was too painful to talk about. Since she wasn’t speaking, she looked up at Dr. Hoffman and remembered it was her turn to hit the ball back over the net.
“Well, I am just finding it difficult to concentrate. I daydream all the time, lose things, can’t follow through on anything, and obsess about everything.” Rachel stopped speaking because a lump formed in her throat, as if she had swallowed a peach pit. She did not even know if she could talk about it. But before she could decide whether or not to talk, words began to float out of her mouth.
“I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I feel like I have fog or static in my head and just can’t seem to get organized and move on with my life. I have all these projects I started working on but can’t finish them because I can’t concentrate. My roommate gets upset with me because she says I’m moody. I’m so fed up with myself that I just don’t know what to do anymore. This is the only way I’ve known how to be, so I’ve never gone for help.”
Dr. Hoffman responded, “What are these projects you are working on?” Dr. Hoffman seemed like he wasn’t really a person, but maybe a mirror that bounced ideas back to her and showed her a reflection of herself. She had never experienced anything like this before.
Feeling hopeless in her response, she said, “I’m an artist. I paint and I draw. This is what I’ve done my whole life, but I can’t seem to finish my projects and follow through with them. I’m so frustrated that I feel like giving up, but it’s the only thing I want in life, and the only thing I’m good at. I didn’t even go to college because I can’t concentrate, and I can’t think of anything besides painting.”
“What is the only thing you want in life?”
“I want to be a successful painter. By success, I mean I want to display my paintings in museums and make a lot of money from them, or at least enough money to live on.”
Dr. Hoffman was sitting in his usual calm and reserved manner. He still did not seem phased by her words but was more interested in what she was revealing now.
He took a deep breath and said, “That seems to be a pretty honorable dream. Most people don’t even have a dream, so it’s great that you do. What exactly gets in your way from finishing paintings?”
Rachel looked down at the floor and responded, “I get distracted. I think too much and analyze, and then I can’t concentrate on what I am painting. I end up leaving my apartment and going out for a walk because I just can’t focus. I start obsessing about what people say and thinking too much about everything. Thoughts go on in my mind over and over again and I can’t stop them. Sometimes scary things repeat in my head like “kill so and so” or “I hate God” or other disturbing thoughts. I can’t control it and it’s getting in the way of achieving what I want to achieve.”
Dr. Hoffman pursed his lips as he thought about what she was saying. “Well, I think we can work through this if you keep coming every week. But I also think I need to refer you to a psychiatrist because they are the ones who can diagnose you. Why don’t I call you this week once I find out who to send you to? Are you ok with that?”
There was a long silence because Rachel always thought psychiatrists were for crazy people, so now she labeled herself crazy too. She knew she wanted to get to the bottom of it all and agreed to go.
“Ok, I’ll wait for your call. I must admit that I’m scared and I don’t understand everything that is going on.”
“That is very normal. You are young and all of this is new to you. We’ll take this in small steps and everything will start to make sense to you.” He actually did a half smile, which made Rachel feel everything may actually turn out ok. He was the stereotype of a father figure, and she at least felt she could trust him to an extent.
Chapter 4
It was another cold night in the city as Rachel waited for the train. When it finally reached her, she got on and sat in between an elderly man and a middle-aged woman. Looking around she saw the usual late night commuters. Some closed their eyes and put their heads back against the glass windows. Others listened to IPODS, some read, and mothers yelled at their screaming children.
Rachel’s heart began to pound really fast, and she felt dizzy. The feeling of not being able to grasp reality was happening to her again.
She felt claustrophobic in the small, warm, confined space she was stuck in. She wondered, “What if I had to scream, yell, or cry? All of these people would hear me. What would I do?” But just as the questions arose, the attack subsided and she was back to normal. She looked around again to see a crying baby, an elderly black woman, and a young professional on his way home from work. People continued to move at their regular pace, while Rachel battled the attacks that were in her own reality.
She got off at her stop and breathed a sigh of relief. As usual the vibrant energy and bright lights of New York City kept her going, and the noise drowned her troubles away as the city spoke louder than her thoughts. Tonight she had to work and the plan was to go home and change and then head over to the restaurant. She was tired as usual but it seemed there was always energy for work. After all it put food on the table and a roof over her head.
Rachel got to the apartment and changed. She put on her white shirt and black pants that everyone had to wear at the restaurant she worked at called Noriko’s. All she had to do after that was shower and put on makeup.
When she showed up Rachel put on a smile as usual and said hello to everyone. It was actually a fun job because the people were cool and everyone joked around all night. Reina came up to her and gave her a hug. She was petite, pretty, and had a short, blonde ponytail. She used to be a cheerleader and had an upbeat and enthusiastic attitude all the time, and Rachel wondered how they got along because they were complete opposites. As the saying goes, opposites do attract at times. Rachel enjoyed her company because she cheered her up and made her see life a little less seriously.
Mike, the bartender, was also cool. The 3 of them would go out for drinks together at times. It was a blast. Anything that drowned out her obsessive thoughts and inability to concentrate on her projects was a blessing.
“Hi Mike, how’s it going?”
“Hey Rachel. It’s been a busy night so far so it’s going well. Making some money here.”
Reina came over, “Hey guys! When are we going out to get margaritas again? That was really fun.” She was overly excited and happy, but Rachel liked her anyway.
“Yup, the 3 Musketeers, together again. What did I do to deserve 2 beautiful girlfriends: one blonde and one brunette?” Mike was always joking around about our “three-some.”
“All right, I have to get the sushi to my table. Talk to you guys later.” Reina ran off as Rachel tied her white apron on and began her shift.
It was a long, busy night, which was a good thing because they all made a lot of money on nights like these. Mike was cleaning up the bar and putting wine glasses away. As he wiped off the counter he asked the girls if they wanted to go get a drink.
Reina responded, “It’s Saturday night! Let’s go have fun. Come on Rachel.” She was hesitant because, unlike Reina, she did not have a lot of energy and just wanted to go home and jump into bed. But after a few minutes, Mike and Reina convinced her to go. When everything was cleaned up, money counted, tips distributed, they left Noriko’s and went to their favorite martini lounge. It’s funny how a group of single people can have so much fun even though they’re all looking for love.
Mike said, “So I had a date with this chick. We met at a friend’s get-together, and then we decided to meet at Starbucks the other day or a date. She walks in and I notice this flower on the side of her head. This big, huge, pink flower. Man, chicks wear these things? I had to make something up so I could get out of the date. I didn’t want to be seen with this girl wearing a huge flower on her head. So I told her my stomach was killing me and that I had to go home and take care of myself. She seemed disappointed, and even called me later, but I just couldn’t deal with the flower. You know what I mean?”
Rachel and Reina were just laughing their heads off. No one could say that Mike wasn’t funny.
“Gosh, I’m cold.” Reina said.
“Well, come on over here and sit next to me. I’ll warm you up.” Mike offered.
“All right, here I come,” Reina got up out of desperation and sat next to Mike, so he could put his arm around her and warm her up.
They both knew Mike liked Asian chicks, so they never misunderstood his kindness. Their friendships were quite interesting and different than most people’s. Everyone thinks men and women who are friends have to be sleeping together or at least interested in each other. They all understood that even though relationships can brew at any time, they were all just hanging out and having fun.
“I’m your furnace. Wow, you smell nice,” he said as he breathed in again.
“Thank you. It’s vanilla oil essence from a little specialty store down the street from me. They have all kinds of scents. You should come with me sometime,” she said to Rachel.
“Yeah, I’ll do that. Any scent would smell great with my cigarette smoke.” They all laughed.
CHAPTER 5
Rachel woke up the next day, Sunday, at 11:00AM. Maybe rest was what she had needed because she wasn’t sleeping well lately. Art supplies were spread out in the corner of the room and she stared at them wondering when her next creation would occur. Usually when she was happy she could draw and paint, but lately her depression wouldn’t allow her to do anything. Rachel got out of bed and walked over to the paints that lived on a shelf of their own. She began to draw with a pencil on a fresh new piece of canvas, and the silhouette of a woman eventually appeared at the end of her pencil.
It was a surprise to Rachel that something was being produced, and she wanted to continue working on it. But first a morning cup of coffee was needed. While the coffee brewed she couldn’t even wait for it to finish, so she rushed back to the easel and picked up where she left off. She realized that the picture resembled herself a lot. She didn’t know it from the start but it turned out to be herself, but a sad Rachel, not a happy one.
The girl in the drawing had long, brown hair. Her eyes were big, brown, round and always contemplating life. The face was pretty just like people always told her. She was often told she looked like Katie Holmes in “Pieces of April.” That was ok with her. She always wore black clothes that contrasted her pale, thin body.
Rachel continued drawing when she realized the coffee had been ready for ten minutes. She went to the kitchen to put milk and sugar in it, and hurried back to work on the drawing. It felt refreshing for her to draw again. She just hadn’t been able to for a few months now, and it was really the only thing she had ever been proud of. It felt good to get her frustrations out on paper. Some fancy people would call it a catharsis because she was finally letting some of her anger and sadness out. She just let it all come out and pour all over the paper. She couldn’t wait to get her paints out and really express how she was feeling through colors. The paints would be the icing on the cake.
Just then the phone rang. It rang about five times since Rachel was busy with her new project. She picked up the phone and heard her mom at the other end. “So why didn’t you call me today?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Rachel answered not really wanting to talk.
“Well you forget things all the time anyway. What are you doing?”
“Painting,” she said nonchalantly.
“Painting again? Why do you waste your time with that? Artists don’t make any money.” This was just the time Rachel didn’t need to hear her condescending voice.
“Mom!” Rachel shouted, “I’m so tired of this! I told you I’m an artist! You put people down for what they like to do. It’s wrong.”
“How dare you speak to me that way! I didn’t raise you to be abusive to your mother. Now find something to do with your life!”
“Mom, I really don’t feel I need to explain to you what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I’m too old for you to be telling me what to do…”
Rachel hung up on her. This was the last thing she could take right now.
Her mother called back and left a couple of messages on the machine. Rachel just didn’t care because she knew who she was. She said out loud to herself, “I’m an artist and the evidence is at the tip of my fingers and all over the walls of my room. I’m tired of trying to explain it to that woman!” Even though she could say it out loud, only part of her believed in what she was saying. Drawing herself was a way to get closer to who she was and to understand herself better.
Rachel got back to her drawing, which was coming along nicely. She was finishing painting the woman and was ready to start the background.
Just then Debbie walked in the front door. Rachel ran over to shut the door so she wouldn’t be interrupted. As long as Debbie realized it was nothing personal, and that Rachel was really just engrossed in her painting.
Debbie was with her boyfriend and they were talking loud enough for her to hear. Rachel put a Depeche Mode CD on to drown out their voices. It was the first CD in reaching distance and all she really wanted to do was to continue painting.
The two of them started getting loud, and they were fighting about something. She had never heard them fight before. There was some door slamming and some yelling. Rachel really did not care though, and she reached for the paints and chose the color that would be her hair color in the picture. She held a few bottles up to her hair and eventually found the one that completely matched.
Rachel then heard Alex, Debbie’s boyfriend, leave. She ran over to the door again, not to open it and console her roommate, but to lock it. This way she could continue working on the painting. And Rachel was right; she came and knocked on the door. “Rachel, are you in? Are you awake?” It sounded like she was crying but Rachel really needed to continue working on this painting while the creative juices were flowing.
“Sorry about the noise if you are in. Well, I guess you’re sleeping.” Debbie walked away looking down at the floor.
Rachel felt bad, since Debbie had been a great roommate so far. But she just couldn’t deal with other people’s problems right now. She had enough of her own. And heck, she finally got started on a painting, which she hadn’t been able to do in months.
She heard Debbie go back to her room and shut the door. Well, relationships suck. This was all she could really conclude about men and women at this point.
Rachel had always been somewhat of an introvert anyway. She really didn’t like to talk to people about her problems, and she didn’t want to hear other people’s problems. She liked to hide in her room and paint her frustrations away, whether she was a good painter or not.
CHAPTER 6