Four Shades of Recovery: Boxed Set Page 4

  Maybe I’ll need to take drugs to prepare for the truth. I’m ready to try anything Dr. Stone suggests, however.

  “Matt you’re a determined, successful businessman. I can help you in your development even though you’ve been badly hurt as a child and again as an adult. Even if things don’t work out with Megan, you’ll be a stronger person psychologically by facing down these fears.”

  He makes an appointment with me for Monday afternoon and I resign myself to the fact that I’ve got to learn to face more pain. In time, I may feel differently about Megan and other men. It’s likely related to the issues that I experienced with my own mother and her men.

  I know my birth mother loved me but she loved her booze more. Her lovers simply wanted me out of the equation. I usurped the time and energy that should have been devoted to spending time with them, obliterating their pain with various substances and cheap thrills. Some of them abused me and she let them.

  Fortunately, I also experienced the unconditional love of my foster family from the age of ten. They helped me learn to trust adults; to depend on their judgments and to work through my anger. Megan never had an alternate role model. I know a bit about how Abby let Megan down but it wasn’t in the same way that my biological mother let me down with her inconsistent care and drunken orgies.

  I text Megan and ask her to email me a little of her travel blog. My idea is that I can take these stories to Dr. Stone and work through them. The advantage of working with the blogs is the fact that they’re real events. I can break them into manageable chunks and explore my feelings about Megan’s encounters in front of my therapist and not with her. I’m hoping that with time I may be able to discuss them with her and not go ballistic. At least I’ll be paying my therapist to watch me unravel. Megan could be protected from the worst of my tantrums.

  Megan texts me that she’ll send her first blog early on Monday afternoon. That’s great, since it gives me time to read over it and think about the feelings and reactions that I’ll rehearse with Dr. Stone. In the meantime, I get involved with my projects at work.

  My email pings shortly after I return from lunch. It’s Megan’s blog. I click on the link and begin reading as I concentrate on breathing slowly.

  “Footloose in London” is its title.

  “Pubs are the places for meeting people. I decided to stay in London another day or so after my first couch surfing experience came to an end. There’s so much still to see and do and the weather’s cooperating. I spent the day viewing the Elgin Marbles and the Egyptian art at the British Museum. WOW. I ate street food in the park and then made my way to the canals. My plan was to crash at a youth hostel. There was one near the old stable yards. I luckily found the one last bed available for the night.

  After that, I needed to be near other people. I made my way to the local pub at dusk and started talking to people my age near the bar. The young barkeeper looked like a movie star and was named Ed. He gave me tips on the best fish and chips around and some free samples. I met a few of my peers who were also staying at the hostel. They warned me that I needed to return by midnight or get locked out.

  I was having such a great time joking and drinking with the gang at the pub, though. I missed the deadline for lockup at the hostel entirely. The bartender walked me to the hostel once his shift ended but it had closed for the evening. I panicked but he suggested a solution. I could crash at his place on a couch (he lives with his parents) and hang out for a couple of days together, in London (he was off for the weekend). How could I turn down his offer? He was sweet and cute. We really got along. He introduced me to his parents, we visited the V&A museum, went to a concert, took the tube and walked all over London. Ed, the brother I never had. I crashed on his couch and he gave me space. Now I’m off to Dublin.”

  I read Megan’s blog ten times in a row. I’m still fuming after the last read. My jealousy has just registered on the Richter scale. She met someone cute and sweet, he invited her to his parents’ home, she slept there, really got along with him, and they spent two days touring around London together. FUCK! I don’t think I can handle her blog. I forward it to Dr. Stone before our meeting. I’m going to need some tranquilizers.

  Chapter Five – Revelations

  MATT’S POV

  I’m trembling with so many different emotions as I enter Dr. Stone’s office. He’s professional but concerned about my state of mind. He ushers me onto the couch and offers me some bottled water. I take it but don’t drink from it yet.

  “Stone, help me put things in perspective,” I say as if I’m issuing a command. The truth is I’m practically begging him to help me at the moment. I’m about to unravel and it won’t be pretty.

  “I’m confident that we can get you through this blog Matt.” His attitude calms me like a drug. I trust him and that’s half the battle with any therapist. In addition, he’s really perceptive and has a bunch of techniques at his disposal.

  “We can approach your fears using at least three different therapies. For example I can use cognitive methods, tranquilizers, or hypnotherapy. My advice and intuitions suggest that cognitive restructuring might work best just now. If that’s not enough, I can prescribe a mild sedative.”

  “Good! You know me well enough by now. Let’s start with the cognitive,” I mutter and slump on the couch opposite his chair. “My take on Megan’s blog is this: She’s away from me one week and already found a replacement.”

  Stone shakes his head then comments. “After reading Megan’s London blog, I noticed two things. First, she’s lonely and searching for social contacts. Second, she found someone who assisted her at a vulnerable point. She thought of him like a brother. That’s not a substitute for you. She made no mention of sexuality or love.”

  I breathe dramatically and then take a swig from the water bottle. “It’s true that she said it was like a brotherly connection. That helps. However she enjoyed his company, met his parents and spent two days touring around with him.”

  “It’s unrealistic, Matt, to expect her to travel around by herself and not meet others. Further her journey involved a test of sorts. She may not be fully aware of this but she needed to compare you to others. Megan’s led a very sheltered life thus far. Getting locked up in a permanent relationship without knowing more about the world and other people would not be good for her nor you, in the long run.”

  “Hmmm. When you put it like that, I can see the value of shopping around. I do the same sort of comparisons when making business acquisitions. It just hurts to think that somehow I wasn’t enough for her to begin with.” I moan in misery. Dr. Stone chuckles. I take a long swallow of water.

  “Let’s look at the evidence. She left because she feared that your love would cause her pain, over time. I don’t think she ever thought that you were lacking. The idea about comparisons involves my personal insight about why leaving was good for both of you.”

  I think about what Megan told me yesterday about feeling protected, cherished and loved. “Alright, I can deal with that point. Your statement about comparisons set me off.”

  “No doubt, Matt. You need to accept the fact that you came out ahead in the competition though.”

  I think about Dr. Stone’s comment for several seconds. “You have no idea how important your last insight is for me. She met other men, and still chose me. She wants me so much right now,” I beam for the first time in our session.

  “I think the most important lesson to take from her blog, Matt, is this: Megan returned to you. Tell me why you think she came back.”

  Stone’s making too much sense and I want to wallow in my misery.

  “I think she wants and needs me. She certainly enjoys our sex life.”

  I smile devilishly as I recall her insatiable need for my cock the other night. My mood shifts as I call to mind her face while I made passionate love to her. Megan looked ecstatic when I gave her an orgasm. At least I know we’ve still got what it takes in the sack.

  “Matt, I’m sure you
’re a stud,” he jokes and smirks, “but she’s returning for many other reasons. Further, she initiated therapy on her own and she’s continuing to grow from it.”

  I can’t believe how much better I feel. “That also pleases me no end. Megan’s really trying to heal so that our relationship will improve.”

  “She needed to see the world. Now, she’s exposed herself to some of it. Megan’s healthier psychologically than ever before. Does that help with your feelings of insecurity, Matt?”

  “Yes, it does, Ed. If we continue as a couple, she’ll be choosing me from a position of strength, not weakness. Before she left, she didn’t really understand…what a great catch I was.” I’m dripping with sarcasm as I complete the analysis but it convinces me that I’m better off now with Megan than one year ago.

  He laughs for a second and then asks a final question, “How are you feeling about the blog now?”

  My emotions are settling down. “I’m glad I read the first one and worked on it with you. It reassures me about our chances for a future relationship.”

  “Do you still want a tranquilizer?” He’s almost teasing me now.

  I shake my head no. “Dr. Stone, I’m calmer now. If I start feeling insecure again, I’ll simply replay this conversation in my head. Her travels now makes sense to me from an emotional and believe it or not, a business perspective.”

  “The business perspective helps you bridge the gap with your emotions, Matt.”

  “Thanks, Ed, for helping me put my head together on this issue. You’re worth every penny that I pay you, my man.”

  We shake hands. He pats me on the back as I leave our latest session. I decide that I’ll text Megan and see if she’s free for dinner. When I open my phone, though, I see that she’s already sent me another blog. This one really disturbs me since the tone of her writing seems to have shifted to the party-girl mode. Instead of texting, I crumble. Her blog is entitled Ibiza. It drives me into a rage.

  Ibiza

  The short version of Ibiza - Met a guy named Clemente on the ferry to the island, stayed at his house, learned a bit of Spanish, jet skied on the beautiful Mediterranean waters, cliff dived, got attacked by a jellyfish, snorkeled, watched Clemente scale down a building, ate paella, did the whole clubbing scene till six in the morning, punched Clemente, and now back at the airport waiting for a flight to Switzerland.

  The long version- isdbijsbfibif going on all around me. I am really wishing either A) my phone would work and I could get a translation app or B) I knew Spanish. The gibberish was me waiting to board the ferry from Barcelona to Ibiza.

  I did the awkward “sit in a chair by myself for a few minutes, get up, walk around like I had somewhere to be and sit in another chair” routine. Ha-ha

  Finally spotted, with my eagle eye vision, a young man who was riding solo. I look at him…look away…look at him….YES! He speaks! Sadly…it’s in Spanish. Anyhow, he knew the basics for us to get by with a maso-menos conversation. As we were learning each other’s names, his being Clemente, and him saying a few more things I def did not understand (he was probably asking for my ring size..tehehe), we were able to board the ferry and sure enough, got cabins right next to each other…Can we all just take a minute and say….aweeeeee.

  Followed thereafter by an exciting visit to the ferry’s bar, where house versions of Adele’s “Someone Like You” were being played. Haha. By the end of our enlightening gibberish, he, for some reason, seemed like a pretty decent guy and, to boot, said “I invitation tu en mi casa”. Offer accepted. I needed a break from the different hostels I was staying in during my Barcelona experience.

  I had four goals for Ibiza: Go scuba diving, see a Spanish dance routine, eat a Spanish dish, and of course….go clubbing. I accomplished two out of four. Ees okay.

  Arriving just at 7am to watch the sun make an appearance over the hills on this scenic island, we met his friend so that he could drive us home, eventually. As I was eating a big juicy burger for breakfast and having the opportunity to speak English with Clemente’s friend, it suddenly occurred to me…. Google translate could finally be put to good use, instead of using the electronic woman’s voice to tell Courtney, Roger, or whomever to flip off. (I would find it hilarious if I were to have a future conversation with him over the phone and he used this Hispanic woman translator’s voice to say what he needed to tell me.)

  I saw the sketchiest statue ever on the ride home. A huge white hand with four or five little black, grey hound dogs on it. I have learned a new lesson: The weirder the statue, the more interesting the story behind it is. I then learned the story.

  Wouldn’t you know it…the island’s party town was called San Antonio. I am actually really interested in finding out just what this Saint Anthony did, because his name sure has an influence on the amount people drink.

  Clemente’s house was ridiculously clean and a little feminine…did he swing the other way? I was soon to find out the answer…no, he did not.

  We took quick power naps and then headed to the beach. Finally, after going in circles about some jet ski license, we were able to take one out for a ride. At this point Clemente said, “I never been on boat or jet ski”(in Spaniard style). I laughed on the inside and told him to hold on. Bahaha I have never heard a man so frightened as I got the thing going to almost its full speed on the rough waves.

  I think he was trying to say I was crazy, but I really couldn’t be sure.

  We spent all day walking around the beach/town and made big plans to watch the sunset at a restaurant for dinner and then go out, but we both knew exhaustion would probably have the upper hand. Sure enough, exhaustion laughed its head off at us. We spent the rest of the evening watching Tarentino style Spanish films.

  The next morning…I was ready to be ready for the day. I don’t think I have mentioned that Clemente is a chef. He cooked a delicious breakfast for us. Yum yums. Then we made our way to one of the nicer beaches on the island. Cindy Crawford’s house is on this nudist beach. Haha. The water was crystal clear beautiful. We found a little cove that had perfect cliffs to take advantage of. Immediately after jumping, I was greeted by several medusas (jellyfish). Imagine opening your eyes under water and seeing them all around/touching you. I was terrified to say the least. Frantically, I doggy paddled to shore. The other people in the cove said “many jellyfish here”…Gee, thanks for the heads up people.

  I was not going to let a few irritations on my skin ruin my day, so I pretended they weren’t there. We then ate in this cute little hut overlooking the water. I had my sushi fix. Mmm. The rest of the day was snorkeling and laying out.

  We walked four miles home, stopping along the way, eating various nuts and fruits we found growing on different trees. When we got home, he lost his keys so we had to go to the upstairs neighbor’s place. Clemente had to scale down the building with a rope and into his window. His neighbor is one interesting dude. He was wearing green dragon clogs, had no front teeth and the strangest hair I have ever seen. He was listening to Queen and writing poetry. Fun!

  This night I was determined to see Ibiza nightlife. So we did just that. First stop a paella dish that was amazing in every way…then the clubs. Clemente knew, seriously, like everyone at the clubs, so he got us in for free. Some DJ, who was probably a big deal, was playing at the first place we went. Had one or two 10-euro drinks and then we hopped to another club.

  Clemente knew the owner of this place too. This joint was smaller and the hippest. Seriously, the owner kept chanting “Marijuana” with his snakeskin boots and mullet hair do. Met another one of Clemente’s friends and the three of us bopped around.

  Like any good night, you usually don’t want it to end…so you after party.

  We went to his friend’s place that overlooked the ocean. Muy bien. Clemente started getting a little mad and proceeded to tell me “tu disinvitation mi casa. tu y mi amigo” I mean damn. I know those were meant to be harsh words, pero it didn’t really have the effect he was trying to get…p
robably because it was in Spanish. I said okay, and then he changed his mind and said I could stay. I was not going to put up a fight either way I was just tired and wanted to sleep.

  He said the next day “I sorry, I crazy when I drink”…this is all too familiar…kind of reminds me of someone I know…Bahaha.

  I was then trying, for the love of god, to get some sleep. ALL I WANTED WAS SLEEP. I was starting to get awfully grumpy, because it was like he was purposely trying to be loud to prevent this wish of mine. “Tu kiss me?” he started to ask repeatedly. After the 20th NO or lo siento pero no from my mouth, I was getting extremely fed up. I knew I was on the verge of snapping….then I snapped. The 21st time he asked, he became my punching bag. A quick combination of two punches to the kidney with all I had left were played out. “Ambulance… call ambulance” he began to say. I don’t think he knew the series of curse words that were soon to follow from my mouth. Good times. Good times.