Page 138 of Shamed
Puffing my cheeks, I blow out a breath. “Well, you’re not going to believe this . . .”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jennifer
It’s truly amazing how many layers there are to the human psyche.
I knew things wouldn’t be magically fixed while I was in the psychiatric ward. But it did help me to get a mental grasp on things, especially on how I felt after the initial assault all thoseyears ago.
They tore the lid off my mind and forced me to face what was inside.
We addressed problems I didn’t even know I had. Or maybe I did, I just buried them amongst the layers of grime so I couldn’t see them.
Mild anti-depressants have helped untangle some of the webs in my dark mind, so now when I search through it, it’s not such a scary place. I’ll stay on them for now, and we’ll reassess at a later date.
But I knew going in that I wasn’t going to tell them the details about Jacob yet. They only know that I feel like I wronged someone so deeply that I’ve been punishing myself for it. And part of that punishment was cutting myself.
They told me that hurting myself wasn’t helping him.
Those words hit me harder than I thought they would, reaching in and grabbing hold of my soul.
And thus, the healing process started.
But you can’t piece your soul back together when there are still misshaped pieces in the form of unresolved issues.
And unresolved issues won’t fix themselves when you’re the cause of them. Action is needed. Only then can you fit yourself back together.
I’ve been out of the psych ward for over a month now, and I’ve spent the time building up the courage to come here.
Sweat gathers in places I didn’t even realize could produce it as I lift my trembling hand to the handle, looking over my shoulder for the tenth time. It’s the same office he’s had for the past several years, yet everything feels unfamiliar.
I can do this, just open the door.
Along with building my courage over the past two months, I’ve been missing Mase every second of every day, wanting to reach out, wanting to talk to him, but keeping myself from doing so.
I’m used to the sensation of an aching chest, of having my body manifest my emotions in a painful physical form. But the feeling produced from missing Mase is not something I’m familiar with.
My whole being aches to be near him. His absence in my life is like drinking several glasses of liquid and still feeling thirsty because it wasn’t water. Nothing will be able to fill the empty space, except him.
I know this separation has been for the best, though. For both of us.
Sometimes I can’t believe what I did to him.
Sometimes I can’t believe what I did to myself.
I’ve still been attending therapy, though it’s not as intense as the program I was in.
I no longer work at the club, either. It turns out when you don’t show up to work for a few weeks, you no longer have a job. Good thing, because I was going to quit, anyway.
When I went to collect my stuff, Melody, Candy, and I said our teary goodbyes, and I wished them luck while handing them my number—something I’d never done in the two years prior.
As part of my healing process, I’ve been visiting women’s shelters to talk with other victims of sexual assault. As much as I never wanted to even think about it in the past, there’s something cathartic about discussing it with others like me.
Of course, there’s always a speck of hope when I walk through the door to the shelter, thinking I might see Mase there at the same time, but after a quick sweep, the speck is snuffed out.
I grip the handle tighter. I didn’t give any warning that I was coming today, didn’t reach out beforehand. I don’t know why. Maybe I just wanted to give myself an out if I decided I wasn’t ready yet.
Finally, with my heart whooshing in my ears, I turn the handle and propel myself inside, so I can’t change my mind.
