Chapter Text
Stepping out of the building, Angela sighed heavily trying to release some weight from the rough day that clung to her shoulders. The sky was dull, mirroring her mood. Trying to concentrate on work had felt like trudging through thick fog. The weather seemed intent on dragging her spirit down with it and it was winning.
Despite the steady drizzle, she looked forward to escaping her apartment for a few hours. When she reached the sidewalk, she walked to the corner and raised her hand to hail a cab, but after several minutes of futile waving, she realized it wasn’t her day.
Great, she thought, pulling her coat tighter as the cold seeped into her bones. With no other option, she turned toward the subway. The chill kept forcing its way under her coat.
The station was packed, as was typical during rush hour. The stench of stale air filled the underground, the clamor of impatient commuters echoing off the tiled walls. Angela stuffed herself into an already overcrowded train, her fingers wrapping around the overhead rail as the vehicle lurched beneath the streets. The walls of the train seemed to press inward as she stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers, each lost in their own world. By the time she reached her stop and made the climb back to the surface, the rain had transformed into a full downpour.
She pulled her hood up, but it did little to keep her dry. The storm pelted her relentlessly as she walked the last few blocks to the counselling center, each step splashing through puddles that seemed to grow deeper with every passing minute. Water was seeping into her shoes and she could feel her dark, wavy hair turning into a frizzy mess.
Finally, she reached the office, feeling drenched and disheartened. Taking a moment to compose herself, Angela took a deep breath and pulled the door open. She pushed her hood back as she went to check in at the reception desk. A dripping trail left their mark on the thin, industrial carpet.
The receptionist looked up with a sympathetic smile. “Getting bad out there?”
“Yeah. Could be worse I guess."
Having signed in and processing the co-pay, Angela hung her coat on the rack by the door. It wouldn’t dry by the time she left, but at least it wouldn’t be dripping on everything around her. As she turned to claim a seat, the door to the doctor’s office opened. Dr. Raynor stood there, her familiar calm presence offering a brief respite from the chaos outside. Angela nodded in return, feeling that same mix of nerves and hope that always accompanied her appointments.
“Angela, come on in,” Dr. Raynor greeted her, her voice warm but businesslike.
Securing her purse strap over one shoulder, she stepped forward, tucking a wavy lock behind her left ear as she usually did in an effort to ready herself. Even after four months of therapy, Angela still experienced a mix of nervous but hopeful emotions. Sharing her true feelings openly and honestly was a skill she had started learning only with Dr. Raynor’s help. And half the time, she wasn’t even able to name them.
Work in progress, she reminded herself.
Behind the patient couch, the plastered paper forest assaulted Angela’s vision just as it had every week. No matter how many times she was determined to ignore the odd decor, there was something about it that made her feel uneasy; like she was being watched. The skinny, grey trunks were far too similar. Their placement too obviously calculated. Even the depiction of sunlight felt wrong.
She liked to think that it was the artist in her that was to blame for her inability to ignore the mural. That was a nicer thought than the possibility of yet another symptom of her anxiety.
Making her usual customary resolution to suffer this in silence, Angela gave thanks that the wall would be to her back during the appointment. She sat quietly while the doctor reviewed her notes. The only sound came from the old-fashioned steam radiator emitting a soft hiss.
“So, how have you been doing?” Dr. Raynor asked in a practiced, calm but caring tone.
“Good, I think. The meds are still helping. No side effects. Sleep still isn’t great but, it’s better.”
The doctor swept her pen across the notepad as she recorded the responses. “Any mood swings?”
Angela shook her head. “I’ll admit this weather isn’t helping though.”
Dr. Raynor nodded, jotting down another note. “You and me both,” she quipped with a slight smile. Christina Raynor was ex-military and all business. Angela found herself once again trying to imagine the woman in a relaxed state – maybe on a resort beach with a frozen fruity drink in hand. She couldn’t see it.
The rest of the session proceeded along the same lines as those before. They discussed highs and lows throughout the week. Why Angela thought she reacted to certain situations the way she did. Ways in which she could continue to retrain her brain. What was working, what wasn’t. The doctor always wrapped up with some suggestions going forward. But this time, Angela was thrown a curve ball.
“I think now is a good time for you to consider joining our Trauma Support Group.” Anticipating resistance, she raised a hand and spoke again. “Before you dismiss the idea, let me remind you that one of the issues you wanted to work on is trust. The only way to start trusting people is to give people a chance to earn it. It’s much easier to begin with those who are going through similar experiences.”
“I’m not ready to bare my soul in public,” Angela said, her voice rising slightly.
Dr. Raynor leaned forward, her expression softening. “I understand. But remember, you don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with. Just being there can be a step forward.”
Angela looked down at her hands, twisting the strap of her purse. “It sounds like I’ll just be setting myself up to feel judged.”
Dr. Raynor shook her head gently. “This group is a safe space. Everyone there has their own story, their own struggles. They’re not there to judge anyone. They’re there to support each other. And you might be surprised at how much you can relate to their experiences.”
“I just don’t know if I can do it.” Angela sighed, feeling the weight of the decision. New social situations continued to be a hurdle for her. Simply thinking about the prospect made her heart race.
Dr. Raynor smiled reassuringly. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just think about it. There’s no commitment. No requirements. Think of it as a baby step. Consider going to one session and listen. It’s a small group. Only six others right now, held in one of the conference rooms downstairs. Thursday night at seven.”
The psychiatrist stood to escort Angela out of the office but continued her sales pitch. “I’m only asking you give it serious consideration.”
Angela nodded, still unsure but feeling a small spark of hope. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
Deciding to play it safe on the way home, Angela spent a few minutes in the waiting room waiting for an Uber ride. Once inside the car, she watched raindrops race down the window, blurring the neon signs of bustling cafes. The reflections of streetlights shimmered in the puddles. Safely sheltered from the rain, she could appreciate the traces of beauty that the somber weather had brought.
But back in the warmth and comfort of her apartment, she couldn’t help but feel relieved. She kicked off her wet shoes and immediately treated herself to a warm bath. Afterwards, she wrapped herself in a cozy blanket, convinced that group sessions were not for her. The idea of sharing her struggles with strangers felt too daunting.
The next day dawned bright and sunny, a stark contrast to the previous evening’s gloom. Angela felt a renewed sense of energy as she grabbed her laptop and walked to her favorite neighborhood coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of conversation created the perfect environment for her to work. She found a corner table, ordered her usual cappuccino, and got lost in her tasks. The hours flew by, and she had one of her most productive days in weeks.
Feeling accomplished, Angela decided to head home. Having walked into the building foyer, she went to her mailbox. Among the usual bills and advertisements, a singular envelope caught her eye. Angela’s heart sank as she opened it and realized it was an invitation to her ex-husband’s wedding. The elegant stationery and the finely crafted print felt like a punch to the gut. Memories of their time together flooded back, and the thought of him moving on so definitively while she was still struggling with her own issues was almost too much to bear. Angela knew the foolishness of her feelings, especially since she was the one to end the marriage. She genuinely wanted him to be happy, yet she couldn’t help but feel a sense of lacking in her own life. The good mood she had been in all day evaporated, replaced by a heavy sense of sadness and frustration.
She mulled over her feelings on the way up to her apartment. Wanting to take the edge off the turbulent emotions, she treated herself to a glass of red wine. Both body and mind began to relax. Angela sought out her journal and began to write out all the positives about the situation as well as all of the things she was proud to have accomplished since their split. Slowly, her thoughts eased.
Angela scanned her notes one last time and said, "Maybe it’s time for me to try something new.”