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thirty
. . .
Tuck
Slaying Dragons
I can’t sleep.
The thought of eating makes me want to vomit. I move through my days in a fog, my head pounding from the multiple whiskey sours I downed the night before. Alcohol is the only thing that calms the restless pain that grips me day and night.
They say time heals all wounds. But with each day that passes, I feel worse.
I think about Maren constantly. The regret I have over how I treated her—how I’m still treating her—is a hand wrapped around my throat, choking me.
I love her. I miss her. So damn much.
I have to send hersomething. I don’t mean to give her mixed messages, but I also can’t stand the thought of her fending for herself at almost seven months pregnant.
So every day, I have items shipped to her parents’ house. One day it’s a six-pack of locally made craft ginger ale and a meal for four from my favorite Italian market in Wilmington. Another, I send a Kindle Fire and an Amazon gift card so shecan fill that Kindle with books, movies, and magazines. I send a cashmere robe-and-slippers set my sister recommended. Flowers.
I text her every morning to check in and make sure she received the gifts.
I don’t understand, she texted me back the first day.You said you couldn’t do this. Why are you sending me this stuff?
I didn’t have a good answer.I need to know you’re taken care of.
If that’s the case,be the man I thought you were and show up in person and TALK TO ME,she’d texted back.
I didn’t have a good answer for that either.I’m sorry.
She didn’t respond.
By the end of the week, I’m so miserable, and so desperate for sleep, I call my primary doctor and ask for meds.
Instead, he refers me to a therapist. Same one I saw after Katie was born.
Last thing I want to do is sit on that woman’s couch again. Overall, my experience with therapy was all right. I definitely felt better afterward. But the actual experience of it—the awkward silences, the deep dive inward—was excruciating.
But I don’t know what else to do, so I call her.
“Sounds like you’re in crisis,” Dr. Bramble says. “I can see you today over my lunch hour if you’re available.”
I’m sitting on that fucking couch again at noon. Clammy hands. Massive headache.
“Welcome back,” she says.
I scoff. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it.
We exchange pleasantries at first. She asks how Katie is. If I’m still enjoying fatherhood.
My phone vibrates again.
“Do you need to get that?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I want to be here. Fully present. I want to get better.”
“That’s going to take time.”
