Chapter 15 The fifteenth psychological consultation

Last time I didn't want to talk about the days on the mountain, thank you again for respecting my wishes.It's been a tough week, so I'm not sure I'll be able to talk about that.Depends on my mood.Bereavement is like a storm. Sometimes I can stand up straight in it, and when I am angry, I can even fight against the wind to see if the wind can blow me down.However, there are times when I need to bend over, huddle, and let the strong wind hit my back.Lately, I've been bending over and bowing my head. I think you probably need to relax too?Listening to me rave about these things makes me depressed, right?I wish I could tell you some happy stories, or make you laugh with some wisecracks.Every time I leave your clinic I feel sorry for you because you have to bite the bullet and I feel so selfish about catching the trash I dumped on you.Not selfish to the point where I want to change.This bad debt drives me to be selfish.I have legitimate reasons for mourning as much as I can.

When I first came to you, I said that there were several reasons for me to try therapy again, but I didn't mention the key.Before that, someone advised me to see a psychiatrist, and I always responded: I can adjust myself, and I don't need to see a doctor. The crux happened in a supermarket where I only went shopping in the middle of the night and had to wear a baseball cap.I have considered online shopping, but I am worried that the merchant will send some ghosts and monsters to deliver the goods.I've had enough of a few journalists trying to get in my door under false pretenses.Closer to home, in the supermarket, I saw a woman bending over to get something from the bottom shelf.That's not surprising, the point being that a few steps behind her was her stroller, unattended, with a baby sitting on it.

I wanted to walk over as if nothing had happened, and try not to look at the baby girl's small white teeth and rosy cheeks, but when I passed by, she stretched out her little hand to me, and I stood still.I seemed to be attracted by a magnet, so I could only let my feet approach her and reach out to her.I just want to touch my little hand, all at once.I told myself, just touch it, just touch it.Unexpectedly, the girl's hand wrapped around my finger that was pointing to her, and she held it with a giggle.When the mother heard the child laughing, she turned around and said: This is my daughter, and her name is Samantha.Wait a few more seconds, Mommy.

Samantha, her name is Samantha.The name echoes in my head.She was on her knees picking out jars, and I realized she wanted baby food.I want to tell her that I also have a little baby, the most beautiful one you have ever seen.But I was also afraid of being asked how old the child was, because I didn't want to say that the child was dead, and I didn't want to see the woman's gaze turn to her daughter, with relief and gratitude on her face, because it wasn't her child who died.I'm also afraid to see her determined demeanor, the mother's full confidence that bad things will never happen to her daughter.

I tried to pull my finger back, but Samantha pinched it even tighter, a small froth of saliva forming on my lips.I inhale her scent of prickly heat powder, diapers, faint frankincense in my nostrils.i want her.My hands were itchy, and I wanted to hug her from the trolley into my arms, into my world. I secretly looked around the aisle, no one was around, and began to use my brain to calculate how many steps I could run to escape the scene.I know that there is only one cashier on the big night shift in this supermarket.Easy as pie.I approach the cart again.With the sound of my heart beating in my ears, I noticed that every strand of the baby's golden hair was shining brightly under the fluorescent lamp, and I couldn't help reaching out my free hand to stroke her hair.My little baby's hair is black.This one is not my baby.My little one is gone.

Just as I was backing away, the child's mother stood up in the aisle, noticed me, and started walking back to the cart. Hello?She smiled hesitantly. I want to scold her, you are too confused, how can you turn your back on a child?Don't you know what's going to happen?How many neuroses are there in society?Want to test how crazy I am? Happy little baby, I said.And so beautiful. She is very happy now, and she was a different face an hour ago!After coaxing her for a long time, she stopped crying.She went on to talk about a lot of hard work as a mother, and I would sell my soul for her.I want to call her a dissatisfied bad woman, a child can cry, she should be happy.But I was sticking around like a wooden man, smiling or nodding from time to time, and finally she had enough whining and said instead: Do you have children?I shook my head unconsciously, felt my lips straighten out of a smile, and even felt my vocal cords vibrate and answered: No, I don't have children.However, the look in my eyes must have revealed something strange, because she smiled kindly and said: Someday there will be.

I wanted to slap her, to yell and get mad.I wanted to cry, but I just smiled, nodded, wished her a good night, and left the aisle. It was because of this incident that I realized that heart disease needs to be intervened by external forces.I've managed to dig out other moves bordering on madness, suppressing the supermarket incident, but yesterday I saw the good news in the paper that a former colleague of mine had just had a boy.I send a card to congratulate mother and child, but I know I can't be near the newborn because I don't trust myself.Even picking the cards is hard work.I don't know why I want to send a card, maybe I just want to prove that I can cure the heart disease that I know I can't cure.It's sad.

Wayne and I would like to have you over for dinner tonight, and Mom called at four or five on a Tuesday afternoon.I'm cooking a pot of meat. Oops, I just had an early dinner.You didn't say it earlier.I haven't actually had dinner yet.Rather than go to her house and hear her tell me how abnormal I am, I'd rather roll on hot coals and have me eat them, and I would.My mood is already bored enough, only my mother can scold me more bored.There's a goddam filmmaker who put up film proposals on the front door of my house, I tore him up and put them up again, and I got in a bad mood enough that he had the audacity to follow up into the woods, trying to persuade me to accept, every few minutes Raise the price and treat this like an auction.He was wasting his lips.

A few years ago, I remember going to the movie Titanic.At the end of the show, the audience who ate a pile of popcorn praised how brilliant and realistic the special effects were, especially the shot of people floating and sinking on the sea.And me?I want to go to the toilet and throw up.Why?There were literally people drowning in shipwrecks, and hundreds of people died.Sitting in a theater eating sweets, licking salted butter off my fingers, and watching realistic images of people drowning in icy water, I find it outrageous. I don't want idle people sitting in the theater, munching on snacks, and judging my life and judging its entertainment value.I called you earlier, but you refused to answer.Mom never said: You are not at home.Always say in an accusing tone: You refuse to answer.As if I kept the phone ringing to make her half dead.

I took Emma for a walk. If you have voicemail but don't listen to messages, what do you need voicemail for? You are right that I am not good.Good thing you called me again because I wanted to ask you something.Last night I wanted to see a photo of Daisy and her father, but I couldn't find it after searching for a long time. I didn't have many photos, most of them were given to me by relatives, and others were collected by my mother in scrapbooks and photo albums.She would vaguely promise to return it to me another day.I'm very annoyed that she kept a photo of the two sisters and their father together, but there are very few photos of my mother.

After you move back home, I'm pretty sure I'll give it back to you. I don't remember it happening, and I looked everywhere last night.I paused for two seconds. I didn't see her take the initiative to explain the reason for the disappearance of the photo. I knew that I must put pressure on her, otherwise she would not hand it over.But I have other things to ask her, and I've learned not to declare war on my mother.The stakes are higher in sparring with her than in Russian roulette. Mom, do you miss Papa and Daisy? A weak sigh came from the other end of the phone.Of course I do, what a silly question.Hey, how much did you eat just now?Those canned soups of yours can't be eaten as dinner anymore, they are thin as bamboo poles. I want to discuss things with you, Mom. we have discussed Actually no.I've always wanted to talk to you because I think about them all the time, especially when I was kidnapped.However, every time I bring them up, you either change the subject or just talk about your sister's skating and her Why are you doing this?Are you trying to break my heart? certainly not!I just thought, well, I was thinking that since I lost a daughter and you also lost a daughter, I thought we could have a conversation, maybe you could share a little healing experience with me.experience?what am i talking aboutShe couldn't get any deeper than an ounce of vodka. Annie, I can't help you.That baby you gave birth to cannot be compared. My pulse speeded up, and I asked firmly, "Why not?" You will not understand. Why not?Okay, then explain to me why my daughter's death is not as good as yours, and let me understand.The anger made my throat tremble, and the hand holding the receiver was so hard that it hurt. You are misinterpreting my meaning.The death of your child is of course a tragedy, Anne, but you cannot compare what happened to you with what happened to me. No, are you referring to what happened to Daisy? Annie, look, that's how you are. I call to invite you to dinner, but you always find a way to curse me back.Honestly, sometimes I think you're just trying to make your life harder. If I want to live a hard life, then I might as well move back to live with you, Mom. She gasped in shock, followed by a loud click to hang up the phone.The rage blew me out the door, and I took Emma for a half-hour run, feeling good and feeling good about rejecting my mom.But when I thought about the next call, my heart was half cold.Usually, stepfather Wayne will call and say, I hurt my mother too much, she is too angry to speak, she should apologize to her, and try to understand her difficulties. I only have this mother in my life, and poor her I suffered a lot.I would listen to the phone and think to myself, strange things.Why doesn't she try to understand me?Am I suffering more than her? After my baby died on the mountain, I woke up staring at the folded blanket, my breasts seeping the fronts of my dresses as if they were crying for her.Even my body couldn't accept the fact that she died.The pervert noticed I was awake and came over and sat on the bed behind me and massaged my back. I'll put ice on your face.He held an ice pack and held it towards my head. I pretended I didn't see it, turned over and sat up to face him.Where is my baby? He looks at the floor. I'm sorry for being loud to you, but it's not her blanket I want, it's her.I got out of bed and knelt in front of him.Please, I beg you.I am willing to do whatever you ask me to do.He still wouldn't look me in the eye, so I moved my face into the center of his field of vision.I would do anything but tell me where you put hers.My mouth can't say the word corpse. What you want, you don't necessarily get him humming the last few bars of the Rolling Stones hit. If you have any sympathy, you'll tell me If I still have a shred of compassion?He jumped out of bed, put his hands on his hips, and paced back and forth.Haven't I proven over and over again how compassionate I am?Haven't I been by your side all the time?You scolded me so badly, didn't I still stay by your side?I brought back her blanket, hoping to bring you some comfort, and you clamored for her?She left you, Anne.Why don't you understand?She left you, but I stayed.I frantically covered my ears, not wanting to hear his hard words, but he pulled my hand away and said: She's gone, gone, gone.Even if you knew where she was, it wouldn't do you any good. However, she left in such a hurry, I just thought I needed to say goodbye. You don't need to know where she is, not now, nor ever.He leaned closer and said, you still have me, that's the most important thing.Well, it's time for you to cook dinner for me. what should I do?how can i survive the next It's time, Annie. I stared at him dumbfounded. He flicked his fingers and pointed to the kitchen.I only took a few steps, and he said: You can have an extra piece of chocolate as a snack tonight. Doctor, the pervert still refuses to say where the baby's body is buried, and I don't know either.The police even brought a body-finding dog to look for her, but they couldn't find her either.My wishful thinking is that he threw the baby in the river and let her drift away peacefully.I also thought the same way when I lay in the closet at night, thinking of her alone in the mountains.Or I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night, sweating all over, and dreaming that wild animals bit her to death. No grave, no monument, no remembrance of my children.The church in town wanted to erect a tombstone for her, but I declined because I was afraid that journalists and case-lovers would run off to take pictures.I regard myself as her graveyard.That's why my heart hurts so much when my mother said that I want to live a hard life again.She hits the nail on the head. A few days ago, Luke called again at night, and I told him that Emma fell into the water while walking, and I couldn't help laughing for a few seconds.I quickly stopped, but unfortunately the laughter had already escaped my mouth, and my smile floated out.I feel so shameful, how can I let the baby down, how can I enjoy a moment of carefree good time?Her life was taken away, her chance to smile, to laugh, to feel was taken away.If I laugh or smile, I betray her. Last week, I didn't go to sleep in the closet once, so I should celebrate.You persuaded me last time, asking me to accept my suspicious attitude calmly and not resist, it may have played a role.Even though I couldn't help checking the front and rear doors last night to see if they were locked, I left out the windows because I reminded myself that I didn't open the windows once after checking during the day, so I didn't have to check again.For the first time since I got home, I skipped some of my bedtime routines. The urination habit is getting more and more normal and the yoga video you sent me has been a great help.Most of the time, when I feel urgent, I can go to the toilet without doing breathing exercises or repeating mantras. Like I said, I should be proud of my progress, and I am really happy, but when I am happy, I add a layer of guilt to myself.The heartbreak is mending, it's a lot like leaving my daughter behind, and I've done that once.