The Guard To My Sanctuary - Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Marco
I woke up at the break of dawn already running late in my day. I could hear Elm still snoring into the phone via my speaker. I was glad that he managed to sleep through the night and wasn't tormented by his nightmares. He never disclosed what exactly he dreamed about but whatever it was would send him into a panic and have him shaking. I brushed my teeth and put deodorant on then put on my uniform. Before I left I dabbed a bit of lemon oil on me so I would smell fresh. I ran out of the house locking the door and made my way to my car. Once inside I pulled off and sped down to the base doing my best to locate the building I was supposed to go to for my first therapy session here in Monterey, California. I hate starting my day off late because that meant I would feel the need to catch up for the time I had missed.
When I finally found the older building that looked like it was built in the seventies I parked out front and got out of my car. Then I walked into the building that smelled like freshly brewed coffee and made my way to the receptionist desk and asked the receptionist, who was a decent looking Middle Eastern man who was wearing a uniform where I was supposed to go. He told me the room number and gave me a general direction then I searched for it until I found it and opened up the door after a curt knock. The room was small and office-like with a desk in the corner and a chair where a civilian psychologist was seated. He was a short and older looking with a clean cut hair that was all gray and his brown skin had many laugh lines carved deep into his skin. He had on coke bottle glasses and a cardigan that looked worn. He seemed like the type of person to always be happy. I wished I could afford to feel that way at all times but that was unrealistic at best.
"Hello sir," I said making my presence known.
"Call me Michael," he said standing up and holding his hand out for me to shake so I walked over and shook his hands.
"Well it's nice to have you here with us, I'm here as a resource for you to use when life is throwing you a curve ball. I understand that you are trying to wean yourself off of medication, is that correct," he asked me repositioning his glasses on his nose.
"Yes it is, I don't want to become dependent on it also recently I took on some other things I things that I have to worry about," I responded referring to Elm who needs me to have my shit together in order to help him.
"Okay well, the first thing I like to do for people further along in their recovery is to talk about their first session with a psychologist or psychiatrist. It helps you reflect on how far along you have journeyed spiritually," he said pulling out an IPad to type on and pointed at the couch for me to sit down on. I walked over to the brown leather couch and got comfortable before taking a second and started to speak. My mind gradually drifted to where I was two years ago...
I laid down uncomfortably in the hospital room, the bed was too soft for me to feel comfortable falling asleep. The smell of sanitizing spray thick in the air like a germ-killing cloud that sucked the natural air up and destroyed it. The sounds of the machines beeping annoying me more and more, it was incessant and the person on the other side of the curtain wouldn't stop snoring. They wouldn't let me leave and this white lady with blond hair kept trying to get me to open up to her, but why should I? She cares nothing about me. This was just a job for her I doubted that she would even still be doing this if the checks were to stop coming. Nobody was truly selfless at their core everyone needed some sort of caveats for doing the things that they did.
"Look, Marco, I just want to hear what you went through, no judgment or anything. I'm here to help-," I interjected.
"Help me," I laughed in her face.
"Yes I'm here to help," she said shifting her taupe dress. I rolled my eyes at her and turned my back to her.
"Look all I am here for is listening to your problems and helping you get back on your feet. Let me help you and the only way for that to happen is if you talk to me," she said from behind me.
"You want to help me, you can't help me or anyone. What would have helped is someone telling me that you are never going to be the same if you go over there. You'll come back as some person you don't even recognize, I look in the mirror and all I see is a stranger staring back at me. He has my face and my skin but his eyes are wild and his soul is mangled  Everyone tells me that I'm some hero for taking a child's fucking life. A child who probably only got into the war to help feed his family with whatever scraps he's given. People look at you as either some monster or some sort of saint when you are neither. I was just a guy who wanted to go help refugees apply for asylum in a safer country by translating their request and happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and had to make some tough decisions in order to make sure my brothers in arms made it home to their families. Now I'm sitting in this damn bed because the slightest sound might send me into a panic, somebody coming up on me from behind makes me lose it. I sit and watch movies and get pissed because every movie gets it wrong and then I'm filled with rage at the actors who are just following the script. Every 'thanks for your service' I get feels forced since it's almost a requirement to say to me in here. I can't even call anyone from back home because my parents are dead and my brother is living his own life. He doesn't even know that I've been in combat zones and I'm not even one hundred percent positive he's alive. I searched for him but found nothing and decided that he was better off with his new family.
I don't even seem to fit in after being over there for six months. I can't wrap my head around people being so interested in a television show about a fake family in the music industry. Or people being awarded status for playing a part in some fictional war or fight. They haven't done anything special but be rich and read off of a script. Do people not know that kids are carrying guns around and killing people all over the world? Nobody could possibly understand what you've been through because everyone's experience with war and combat is so unique and different. Nobody had to make the calls that I did after my fellow airmen and soldiers were in panic from being ambushed. You didn't have to watch a mother use her own body as a shield to protect her disabled daughter. You weren't at this place this time so how could you understand? I even started drinking heavily which I've never done just to get some peace of mind. I drank so I could smile, I drank so I could laugh. I drank so I could forget what was going on around me even when I got back because I know too much about how bad the world could actually be. No one gets it, how could anyone? My friend wants to help me, but I can't help but push him away because the way he looks like he's constantly scared for me drives me insane. He tries to understand but explaining anything about what happens triggers me. So I stuff it deep down into my mind and keep pushing it down hoping it will disappear... I'm not this person and never thought I could become a person who just hates everyone because they can freely smile and have no guilt about it. The worst part about all of this is how nervous everyone is around you. Like you are some sort of bomb that they need to keep an eye on. People try to open up to you about how his mother being killed and ask how you deal with loss. Another talks about his sick grandfather and how death will affect him.  When did I become a guru of the dead and how to process it? I don't have some grand plan on getting over death I can't even fall asleep at night, which ended me in here after I fell asleep at the wheel and crashed my car into a stop sign. Maybe I'm not the same, Maybe I'll never be the same," I shouted at her while on the verge of tears. I could only remember being so tired that even that conversation left my energy reserves on empty.
I looked at him and he finished typing, "Well now tell me how you feel about how your life is going today," he said looking at me in my eyes.
"Well everything I say here is confidential correct," I asked wanting to make sure what I was about to spill would only be between me and him.
"That's true as long as you aren't threatening to hurt yourself or others," he replied. I sat back pondering if I should tell him about Elm the reason for me even agreeing to go back to therapy. I looked at him for a minute before I started to speak. I didn't give him all the particulars about Elm's life but enough to know that he had been through a lot more than I had been through. I then branched off to how he relied on me and the feelings that were beginning to blossom for him. By the time I was done talking we only have fifteen minutes left before I had to leave and go to work.
"From what I'm understanding is you've stepped up in order to take on an important role in his life," the doctor responded not giving off any emotions. I looked at him not understanding what he was saying. He noticed my confusion and started talking.
"What I'm saying is you've been weaning yourself off the drugs by yourself for three months now and haven't been to therapy. Now that he's in the picture you find yourself in my office. His recovery is forcing you to recognize that you need to have an outlet of your own that will help you while you are what I call it 'supporting for two'. Your taking on a lot for your second year in recovery is what I'm trying to say. That could be a good or bad thing depending on you personally. I'd like to keep seeing you twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays just to see how you are progressing. Will that be an issue going forward," he asked. His forehead was creased with concern as he waited for my response.
"No sir," I said getting up to shake his hand and left out thinking about how far I had come in such a short amount of time. I remember when I felt like nothing was changing but here I was able to survive like a somewhat normal person. I was determined to get better so that I could remain a person for Elm to lean on for a very long time.