I laid flat on my stomach inside my bedroom for almost two hours now, drained, dehydrated and exhausted—I'm not feeling like leaving the bed that's been caressing me so intimately. It was past ten am, quarter to eleven am particularly when our first session with Stephen had been concluded, and though it had gone well with what I had orchestrated— the dropping of the pen to unleash what's eating him up inside that distresses him— I can't help but feel incompetent having not to properly wrap up the session. It was not the first time my client had opted to stop the session, but what had happened to Stephen was I should not have asked him about his sleep. It was already obvious that he lacks sleep, and it certainly requires no damn degree or master's to notice the dark circles under his eyes, how stupid of me! If not for that, I could have possibly uncovered more from him. Now, I'm feeling ineffective. Inefficient. I was being rash and stupid!
It doesn't really bother me, but what need to be noted of with depression is it's a lethal killer. It makes the person who suffers from it a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode any moment. That's why I make extra effort, if not—total effort and use of expertise must be exerted which I carelessly failed to do so. When I got back here in my office, I got a notification containing a message informing me of an amount of money that had been transferred to my bank account. And for the record, it's quintupled the amount of how much I charge per hour. I don't deserve that and now I'm having contractions in my chest and stomach, and I'm losing energy to get up. I'm familiar with this feeling— it's guilt.
Back when I was still a kid, I had wondered why, when people sometimes get really embarrassed, anxious, stressed and aggravated— the bodily reactions are very evident. I figured out in school that when such happens to an individual, the blood flow decreases in the prefrontal cortex resulting in compromised impulse control and emotional regulations. However, blood rushes flow more intensely in the cardiovascular, so people feel tensed up and the heart beats faster than normal, the hands start to sweat and become shaky, then the knees get weak making possible movements seem hard and heavy and the most common feeling is the stomach getting grumpy. In such conditions, the physiological aspects of the body are weakened and get affected by the mental state—this is called as psychosomatic symptom, basically means that the mind takes over the body. Which the kid Paul had grown so curious about and fell into studying psychology.
That's why when people are sad and depressed, the chances of them getting sick and ill increase. In light of that, when they have prior conditions, it will get worse.
It could be the reason why I've been going in and out of the comfort room several times now, but I can't get it out and now I'm constipated.
I was sweating really heavy, and the sheets covering my bed are now getting damp. I've spread my arms wide open making me lie in a cross position, slowly trying to breathe in and out through my mouth.
Breath in. "1, 2, 3, 4…"
I held my breath. "1,2,3,4,5,6,7…"
Slowly breathed out. "1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8."
I counted it in my head, repeated it a few times. It's not working! My stomach growled even stronger which made me stand up and momentarily gain the energy needed just to rush to the comfort room. This is making me mad!
When I had gone out from the comfort room, that energy surge a while ago vanished and I'm feeling useless again.
I walked out of my bedroom in small—almost doing just half steps, making it feel like a mile walk. When I managed to get out, I turned towards the water dispenser, just in the corner of my office, beside a peace lily I had placed in a white wooden vase.
I hung a pack of paper cups on the other side, the one that you just grab from the bottom of a box, making the next cup's position ready to be grabbed for next use.
I dispensed a cup of water then went to my desk and sat on the chair. The way I sat, my body was dropped like it was on the verge of collapse due to unimaginable weight and I know it's just the somatic exhaustion caused by my mind. Almost half of the water spilled over my pants, and some splashed on the desk, but I had little energy to care. I drank the remaining water and placed the cup on the desk, making me exhale a slow yet lengthy breath.
Even so, despite the hard and heavy breathing and stomachache, I grabbed open my drawer and reached for an already opened pack of cigarettes, hoping it would remove what's been troubling me. I looked inside it, and it was already almost empty. Just three red cigarette sticks. I pulled one stick out and grabbed the lighter inside the drawer before closing it and lighting the stick. This'll do.
I puffed the stick so fast the smell of cigarettes covered my office but despite that, it was the best thing I could ever ask for this afternoon.
I can't do this today.