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I had to start over with my life. I certainly couldn’t ask Martin for a referral.
Pulling in a breath, I tried to refocus as Sharon resumed sharing in our group therapy session with Dr. Rhodes, who I now called Elizabeth like everyone else. A mother already, Sharon was talking about how she had pockets of amnesia during her abuse.
“It was like I functioned,” she said, “and got from point A to B, but I couldn’t remember how.”
“Can you explain that?” Elizabeth asked.
“Like, it would be morning, and I would be making breakfast for my kids, and the next thing I knew, I would be at the laundromat folding laundry. But the part in between was a black hole to me.”
“Blackouts after head wounds and emotional trauma aren’t uncommon.”
My eyes grew large. Martin had hit me often, and I had lapses in my memory like Sharon’s.
“Can there be problems down the line from head injuries?” I asked.
Elizabeth pulled in a breath. “Sometimes, but if there are, they usually appear sooner rather than later.”
She was trying to be honest. It was part of being a trusted advisor. But sometimes, like now, her honesty could be scary.
Giving me a serious look, she said, “It’s best once you settle somewhere outside these walls that you establish a relationship with a good primary physician. Be up front with them and your trusted support group about what you’ve endured, so they can be watching for any troubling signs. Physical or otherwise.”
Everyone in the group was quiet and wide-eyed like me, absorbing that information.
“Well, since we only have a few minutes left for today ...” Elizabeth glanced at the clock, then looked at me. “Let’s have Addy read what she wrote.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, staring down at my clasped hands.
“Did you not complete the assignment?”
“I did it.” I reached under my chair and brought the tearstained paper to my lap. It fluttered in my trembling hand. “It’s pretty dark.”
“It’s all dark shit in here, honey,” Sharon said, and the other girls murmured their agreement.
“The sun always rises after night,” Elizabeth said gently.
“Unless there’s another storm in the morning,” Sharon grumbled.
“Even during another storm.” Elizabeth smiled indulgently. She was accustomed to Sharon’s contrary personality. We all were. “Even during storms, the sun is there behind the clouds. The day is still a new day. A fresh start. A new opportunity.”
“But sometimes the storm does too much damage to repair,” I said, adding my own pessimistic viewpoint to the discussion. That was the way I felt whenever I thought of facing the future alone. “Even if the sun is there, if the clouds never clear, we can’t see light or feel warmth.”
Elizabeth gave me a sad but understanding look.
“That’s certainly a dark perspective. One, if you were on the outside reintegrating, that you should share with a trusted friend or relative. While here, it’s something we should examine.” She leaned forward, her hands clasped together. “Do you feel like the damage you suffered from your abuse is irreversible, a storm that will never clear?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m not as far along as everyone else. My feelings still trip me up.” I gave her a wobbly smile.
“We’ll get you there, Addy.” Elizabeth’s encouraging smile was real and genuine, so much better than mine. She shared it with everyone in the group. “Time’s up, everyone. We have to end our session punctually, since so many of you now have job training and other reintegration activities to go to.”
Everyone stood. I crushed my paper in my grip and stood too, but awkwardly. I’d been at Restore House for months now. My belly was large, and it slowed me down.
Elizabeth caught me before I could waddle through the door behind the others. “Can I walk with you to Clara’s office? So we can talk a little more.”
“Sure.” I nodded. “Sorry I was so pessimistic.”
“You were sharing honestly how you feel. There’s no shame in that.”
As we stepped into the outdoor courtyard, I could tell she was studying me closely.
