Client DRV.HA.110 - confessions may come

(Beep. Music fades in.)

I could never… I would never downplay or minimize the nightmare you find yourself trapped in. Not even for to make this tape a little easier sake of convenience or to keep a front of some kind going, which is generally appealing to me as a principle. I mean, you have to remember how awkward I can be. You do remember, right? So it makes sense that I would want that to stop.

But I could never… I mean… I… I know what it’s like. I’m sorry. Maybe I'm not saying anything you don't already know. Maybe she told you already. I’m scared she did. (Exhale) I don’t even know if you know each other. Or how well you do. You just work together. At the same university. In the same department. But she made me believe she was larger than life. Or at least, certainly larger than me.

So she could have told you. I mean why wouldn't she? She’s taken so much from me already. What about my ability to be heard, specifically by you.

I'm scared to know.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

And in many ways, this is my fault. I know that. It wasn’t something I had to tell her. I beat myself up about this daily, so believe me, I really know it wasn’t something I had to tell her. Not going to forget that lesson. I have thoroughly dissected where I messed up and how avoidable it all was.

Even as my university mentor, she wasn’t entitled to the skeletons that had been pulled out of my figurative closet and laid them to rest in the backyard. Admittedly in makeshift graves outside of my window where I can see them each time I glance out towards the otherwise perfect horizon.

And yeah, the metaphor has completely fallen apart by now. But what I’m trying to say is that all of those things she wanted to know were no longer relevant. Not to the choices I had to make about the rest of my life. Or even my life right then. Sure, I’ll always carry them, I can admit that, but I had a good grip on them by that point.

I tried to tell her that I didn’t need her help. But that didn’t land well. (Pause) You know, some of the people I was able to talk to, preemptively tell my secrets to, weren’t surprised by anything that had happened: her insistence that she know everything about me, using that information as justification to to dictate my life, and then lashing out when I refused to be a perfectly obedient machine.

If anything, I think they were only surprised that I didn’t comply. But in the end, I did have a sliver of self-preservation and self-worth. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing. And it was inevitably going to kick in. But hopefully not too late. (Pause). It might have been too late.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I still don't entirely know what I'm doing with my life. I would guess that no one does, probably. But there was a time in my life when I felt like I had some sense of direction, even if the destination wasn't all that clear. I mean, I had at least one step planned out. A master's program that… Well I can see many people would think it was a bad idea. But this was my life. My choice. And I had a very good reason for the one I was making.

So I started to put together my application materials, and she didn't like that. She had her own ideas for me, I guess.

You know someone told me that some academics just… Well, they just want ideological copies of themselves to populate every major university. Why put in the work when your clones can do it, right?

I couldn't believe that at first. After all, you were never like that.

(Music fades out. Beep. Music fades in.)

I've dreamed of your suffering, your misery, your hurt and pain. Pretty much everything you wouldn't want anyone else to see, particularly a former of yours. But sometimes it would get a lot worse than that. Sometimes a dream starts with me at your office door, and I used to throw myself through it. That never worked out. I can tell you that much. But for a while, I trying. But now I'm too scared to. And now, I know what's there. But I don't know what the benefit of my seeing it is. I also don't know what part of it is worse, so please don't ask me. Please.

Look, I'm just trying to get by. I don't know even how to help you. I know I need to, but are we even on speaking terms?  Are you mad at me? With me? Do you hate me?

In some ways, I don't care about myself anymore. Whatever the loss is, I've already suffered so much worse in my life. But also the bar is so much lower now, relatively speaking. I mean that’s what happen when the stakes got raised.

Because you have to be around to hate me, right? You have to be here. That’s… That’s like a rule, right?

(Music fades out. Beep. Music fades in)

Looking back, they might have been surprised to see my reaction, but I was absolutely thrilled. The doctors said it was genetic with a solidifying force. So it was both inescapable and also inflicted on me. Super not my fault and still something I could always conquer.

I ended up making a whole story-type-thing around it. Like I was a soldier of a late generation that has inherited this great war, charged with picking up the sword after the mightiest warrior had been slain before my eyes.  And maybe you know where this is going? I mean, it sounds like a fantasy doesn't it, one that might be complete with some sort of grand stand and divine intervention at the last possible moment.

But is that so wrong? I loved the thought that I had slayed a dragon while still a young adult. A dragon that strikes so many down in their prime. I slayed that dragon. Does it matter that my armor is dented? Why am I ashamed? Sometimes that’s enough for me and sometimes it isn’t. But is that enough for you? (Music fades in) To know that while I'm not perfect, I did something truly great. To know that it can be done even by someone as meek as me. Is it?

(Beep. Music fades in.)

To this day, I still think about your class and you. It's not just because of the dreams, though. In some ways, you helped me build the life I have by giving me the bricks and the architect's pen.

The other part of it is this desperate need to know that despite my weakness and failings in this, you are still alive. Maybe rationality will try to offer up its own assurances, but I don't find them very convincing. Because on the other hand, I can rationally understand why losing her would shake you up so badly that… that you might be thinking of something.

I … I saw the…. The service the students held for her. I saw it. I shouldn't have, but I did, and that's a bell we can't unring.

Her students had it online for a few weeks for any of their companions who were grieving but unable to make it. It’s the sort of situation that doesn't allow for the full utilization of privacy settings. Social etiquette is probably supposed to fill in the gaps, but personally, I was pretty far gone.

I mean, it had been six months by then. Six months of the dreams… the nightmares. I had broken long before that. So I watched your eulogy for her over and over again. I know every word by heart, including those over which your voice cracked. It's surreal how deeply I embedded myself into those ten minutes. And into your marriage in general.

(Music fades out and new music fades in.)

I know losing her was hard. Loss is always hard, but your pain sometimes feels like it’s on a whole other level. It’s the contradictions therein; they create uncertainty, don’t they? Because you were each your own people with independent lives, but yeah there was a fair bit of overlap there. You were fused at points no one could see. And now that you've been torn apart, and no one knows to tend to those wounds. And you don’t even know where they are. So they've festered. And I can't even begin to see what those infections are. Regret? Guilt? Disappointment? Disorientation?  They all look the same.

So much of yourself is buried with her. Things no one could see and maybe even things you cannot even describe yourself.

What about everything else that got brought to light in the wake of all this? All those things you had worked so hard to avoid and wanted to deny. Deny. Deny. And ignore until you could retire. Everything about this current moment you don’t like. That also doesn’t like you.

(Music fades out. Beep. Music fades in.)

Maybe you talked to the advisor I had when I was in my master's program. Your name had come up once in our conversations. He could see the influence you had had on my work. And I didn't deny it. I never could. He went on to say that the two of you went "way back." And… well I know academia is a small world, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. But I kind of was.

I can't imagine that the two of you have had many occasions to speak to each other since then. But it's possible. And it shouldn't scare me. After all, he was a great advisor, and he's genuinely an all around great guy, but when has my brain ever worked like it's supposed to?

You know, rationally I know that this shouldn't be a big deal. Even if you do know and that worst case scenario is realized, what does it matter? It's not something I can't recover from. Loss can always be recovered from. Or that's what they say. As long as it's not physical destruction, right? You can come back from anything else. But it's hard to be rational in times like this. There's a subjective element to loss and… well with each loss, the world we dwell in changes dramatically from one moment to the next.

And in your case, everything is coming apart, I know. I know what you might be thinking or feeling. And it's not because of the dreams. And that's why I'm so scared.

(Music fades out. Beep.)