CLient Missed - Session 3

It all started when…

(Beep. Music fades in.)

You find comfort in the silence, don’t you? I get it. I’ve never experienced it, myself, but I can understand. I can understand the appeal when silence brings peace. A pause to the chaos. And there’s something shameful about that, isn’t there? Or you think it’s shame. It’s easier to say its shame than to really have to really sit and look at the guilt you feel. It’s just easier to slap any old sticker on it, any tried and true name that you can then react to, than it is to really dissect what it is you are feeling.

I understand that. I understand feeling like the truth or the most accurate account of such things does not really matter. I can understand trying to ignore it for what you think of as your sake. 

And with that, you breathed a sigh of relief, didn’t you? You weren’t just relieved that you wouldn’t have to justify this to me, although that was part of it. You were also relieved to be moving past this. Because to you, that acknowledgement means that the argument is over. It means that there is no need to fight or argue anymore. But no, I don’t think that’s the case. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Ask me why I understand. Or ask me what it is I really understand this. Ask me what it is I see. I know I can’t hear you. I haven’t forgotten the facts of this arrangement, the experience I have carefully curated for you. I know I cannot hear you. I am not asking so that I can. I am not asking for me. I am asking for you. I am asking for your sake. It would do you good to say the question. It would do you good to voice the concern.

Ask me why I understand your defaulting to shame. Ask me anything right now. I’ll wait. 

(Pause)

The words aren’t coming easily to you, are they? Maybe you said it and maybe you didn’t. I can’t know either way. I cannot know the specifics. I do not need to know the specifics. The hesitation is enough for me.

The hesitation came from inertia, you might say. The same thing that led you to shame as an explanation keeps you from speaking now. You got caught up in something, in a current that will always charge ahead even when you are reluctant to go, even when you want to change directions or redirect. Its pull is strong but not stronger than you. Just stronger than your usual state. You can be stronger than it. You have to choose to be stronger than it. 

Then again, it’s harder to be stronger than something that has grown so much larger than you.  It’s harder to be stronger than a lie that has reached this height. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I’m not judging you for the lie, you know. And I understand why that seems hard to believe. I am the sort of person who believes in honesty. I see it as a virtue or connective tissue that holds us together through the challenges of life. It is important to me. But it is so important, that I recognize the complexities within it all. I can see that sometimes speaking the words that fit against the surface is not true honesty. Sometimes the truth is revealed in seemingly contradictory choices or through other methods. Sometimes the lies tell me more about you than the truth does. 

You blame yourself not because you really know in your heart of hearts that you are at fault. But you are afraid that you are, on one hand. On the other, this was a child’s reaction to scary circumstances. This was a child taking on blame because if they were really in control then they could make it so that the cancer didn’t win. You told the story not because you believed it or to persuade others to believe it. You told the story to soothe yourself. You still tell the story to soothe yourself. 

(Music fades out)

Or live it, I should say. You live the story you dare not breathe aloud.

(New music fades in)

Because you still have a child’s fear, don’t you? You have a child’s fear of the cancer coming back. If it comes back, it may be worse this time. So you go back to the old story. You make yourself the grand force that decides and dictates all its happenings therein. By accident, usually. And so, more often than not, you firmly chastise yourself for some perceived mistake. You rebuke and punish yourself each time a toe strays out of line. Or each time you think it strayed out of line. 

You are the judge in that. And you are a very… Well, I was about to say cruel, but I think that may be too harsh. You are a very strict judge. You are a very cautious judge. And what a bad combination that makes. The mixture of those traits can make a judge who is very quick to sacrifice. Who is very quick to let others suffer for the sake of the rest. 

Or to let one suffer. But it isn’t even an “other.” It is themselves. And then they say that makes it okay. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But does it? I let you ask me a question. Now it is my turn to ask you, though the same rules and stipulations apply of course. The same purpose is also there. The point is not what you say but the simple fact that you say it. The point is that you voice what it is you had otherwise been so inclined to hide from yourself. 

Or maybe it’s not the exact same point. Because I want you to not just speak the answer but to look at what it really gets to. Because maybe you can deny me and maybe you can’t. But the feeling remains in your chest. That feeling that you are lost and drift, unsure of what comes next. That remains within you no matter what you or I say.

But I’ve stalled long enough. Now it’s time for the question. Do you remember the look your mother gave you when she dropped by at your place unannounced? When she saw the sink full of dishes and the fridge empty of anything actually edible. The take out bags littering the floor did not bother her so much. At least you were eating, she wanted to say. 

It felt unlucky. It felt like the first step onto thin ice, the gradually beginning of a disaster just about to unfold. She didn’t want that. Not for you and not for her. But she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to help.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Children think of their parents as invincible. There is likely an evolutionary purpose to that belief. They aren’t perfect or omnipotent or unbreakable, but they are better off than we are. They are stronger than us. So it makes sense for us to rely on them. 

But then comes the moment when you have to realize they are fallible. There comes a moment when you are confronted by their own humanity. And it stings, a bit. We feel the cracking of the illusion within us. It is an ache that travels the length of our own bodies. It’s hard enough for an adult to take. But you were not an adult when you learned that lesson. It came much too soon. 

Your mother wants to unteach that to you. She wants to make you well. She doesn’t know how. She’s helpless. She’s hurting.

You flinched when I said, “hurting” I know. But what am I to say? This is not your choice, but it’s not mine either. This is the trial you find yourself in. This is what you are hiding from. But you can’t hide forever. It isn’t doing anything for you. 

(Music fades out. Beep.)

The Oracle of Dusk is a production of Miscellany Media Studios with music licensed from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. It was written, edited, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey. And if you like the show, tell friends about it or the quasi-friends that are still on your social media feeds because social norms evolved before words did, am I right?