celestialheaven

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I usually write a lot of research papers, and this is my first attempt at something that is fiction.  I am not sure what I am supposed to write in my profile, but I love to read. They are usually self-help books or books on a variety of mental health issues which I get halfway through and put down because I have either been taught the principle by a mentor or learned it through the way of hard knocks.  It is difficult for me to focus on fictional writing, because a: I feel like I should be working (I own a private practice) or b: I don't seem to find a book that totally engrosses me to the point that I can't quit turning pages.  I read "The Silent Patient" and couldn't put it down, I suspect it was because it had a lot fo do with my profession.  I do remember a time when I absolutely would not put a book down until the book was completely finished and those were the Harry Potter series.  That is a long time ago folks!  I don't believe it is because there aren't great books to read, I believe it is my mindset.  Lately though I have been wanting to be the one writing, not sure why.  As for personal interests, I love to play piano, I love watching people and nature, I enjoy spending time in nature (but not as an avid hiker, just enjoy the outdoors!) I do love water...beaches, beautiful lakes, ponds etc.  I would say I am a fantastic cook, but I am not!  I leave that to my husband.  I enjoy being a mom and wife immensely and am working to find balance in my life.  I am also a cat person.....sum it up?!

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celestialheaven Discussions
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I posted a version of this story before--maybe a couple of years ago.  I gained much positive feedba…
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  •  · Hi Celestialheaven,Thanks for your explanation. That clears things up and I'm sure you'll be able to…
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I've read all of your comments which were very helpful to me.....the show and tell.....still learnin…
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  •  · Hey _ i think you do a great job of keeping the reader intrigued but i think you need to simplify. T…
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The LonelinessThere were many things Carol had learned in her 49 years of life, one of which was tha…
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  •  · Thank you for reading this!  I appreciate the feedback.  I agree it's a bit clunky if that's a word.…
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There were many things Carol had learned in her 49 years of life, one of which was that the thing sh…
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  •  · I would say state of mind depends on the individual. Some days I’m galloping to the computer full of…

Yes, definitely some issues, but I want some of them to be there on purpose, because they will resolve themselves as the "whatever I am writing continues." However, I also see this is quite alarming to readers and I may consider some additional revisions so that issue does not come into play.  I really appreciate your taking the time to read what I wrote, I did not know how to upload it into a file.....something I will figure out!  I don't know where you are located, so have a great day/night depending on where you live!  Thanks so much! Celestialheaven

Libby,

Thank you for the honest and thoughtful feedback.  I very much appreciate it.  The answer is yes, as the book goes forward Carol's past is intertwined in a way with this girl, who is creating countertransference in the therapist....which now as I say this should be written in the story so people understand that is indeed happening and also explain what it is.  I'm not sure if this will be a short story or a novel, I really don't know the difference....because I'm just writing thoughts at night when they come to me.  As to the using another child to question another child about sexual abuse, that DOES NOT happen.  So if you you thinking that, others are as well.  I may need to change this a bit. I want the reader to be somewhat confused but also intrigued by the chaos going on in Carol's head but to some people this is sounding like real life if I am understanding your understanding of how it reads. In reality, as the chapters, progress, I want the reader to understand that Carol's mind is a tangled mess that needs sorting out.  The reader will find out soon I am thinking that Carol has been hiding the secret that she has been living with DID (formerly known as multiple personality disorder) and hiding it from everyone but one therapist who helped her until she passed away.  Before she passed away she gave Carol her blessing to work as a therapist as long as her OWN STUFF did not get in the way of helping others.  However, the girl who made the drawing and can see a dark figure has caught Carol so off guard that her own mind becomes unraveled back to what it was before she sought help.  The countertransference is so great that she can no longer see the difference between her own issues versus the girl who sees dark figures.  The girl who helps Carol is not real, but an alter that comes in to assist Carol when Carol cannot do her job.  I see I have some serious cleaning up to do, because I am confusing people as to what is reality and what is in Carol's mind?   I hope I have answered your questions, or did I possibly muddy the waters so to speak and create more confusion? Again thank you for your thoughts, it has made me think of how I should make these things clearer to the reader without giving it all away so to speak within the first few pages.  Many regards, Celestialheaven 

Thanks for the feedback.  I'm interested how therapists gain information if they cannot ask questions to minors? Interested in how that occurs?  That would help me in a few sections and throughout the writing as I go.  Thanks so much!  Have a wonderful day/night!


Added a forum 

I posted a version of this story before--maybe a couple of years ago.  I gained much positive feedback that helped me immensely. However, it was also I guess a bit of a reality check that I need to work many aspects of this piece for it to become something that would entice people to read in its entirety.  So I left it alone for quite some time and just starting to become brave again to dip my foot in the pool.  Would love feedback again!  Thanks in advance for reading this..it is quite rough without chapters etc. Just a warning!


The Loneliness

There were many things Carol had learned in her 49 years of life, one of which was that the thing she called The Loneliness was loud, almost too loud for her to bear each day.  It usually started at dusk, when the sun set over the mountains.  There always was that moment where it was picture perfect, and life seemed completely in balance…then the sun faded over the mountain tops and The Loneliness would start creeping in, almost silently at first but by late evening it sounded like a moaning woman lamenting in her sadness of whatever it was that pained her.  There was nothing Carol could do.  Each night it came.  It didn’t matter if her house were full of guests or her family was scrambling around doing last minute tasks before bedtime.  The Loneliness was always louder and permeated her body to her very soul.  In fact, the Loneliness caused her each evening to become frozen, very much like a statue, sitting in the corner of her couch…watching, watching the others move about.  Carol couldn’t move. The Loneliness won every night.

            

It was another typical night with The Loneliness creeping in causing Carol to shiver even though she wasn’t cold.  She scrambled from her usual spot on the couch and made a half-hearted attempt to straighten her house before the noise became too loud.  She often wondered if The Loneliness would ever change from a lamenting woman to sounds and words that she could understand.  She wondered if then she could then determine maybe, possibly what The Loneliness wanted. 

 

 Carol was considered the peacemaker, the listener, the non judgmental person by those who knew her.  If only they knew of her secrets and the sounds she listened to each night.  Soon her husband would be asleep snoring, and her daughter in her room using social media to connect with friends.  Carol could never decide which was worse—when everyone left so she couldn’t watch them; or having them nearby where she could see what they were doing.  She had almost determined that having them around was safer, because they helped drown out the noise in her own head.  

 

The loneliness wasn’t the only thing that haunted her each day. There were others and Carol new their names—in fact she felt she knew everything about the others.  At least that is what Carol thought.  It was a beautiful morning when she awoke, and she grabbed her mug of coffee and meandered outside.  Her step on the side of the garage was her safe place, a place where she could hear birds singing their morning songs, the crunching sounds of people walking along the streets, and could feel the warmth of the sun on her toes.  Her favorite days were those that had a nip in the air even with the sun peaking over the mountains.  She looked across the street to watch her neighbor’s majestic tree swaying slightly in the breeze and could hear the swooshing sound it made as the breeze rustled though the branches and leaves of the tree. 

 

During the day hours, Carol was a trauma therapist, days filled with endless tears of those who had usually been sexually abused at some point in their lives.  They came to her with their last breath of hope, a hope that someone would listen, would hear them, and give them a voice they never had.  Carol could hear their voices as she sat there, “It was my fault it happened, if only I had not gone to that party, I knew better than to go, I even locked my door…”. Although there were many clients, the cries and conversations melted into one large caldron of despair for these people.  Her job was to help them sort through the mess they were left with, try to make some sense of it, teach them to overcome fears, give them more than a shred of hope, and help them swim to the other side of the abyss.  The other side, Carol thought, if only one of them could reach past the abyss, climb out, and reach the shore.  There they would see that life was beautiful.  They could walk along the beach and feel the soft sand between their toes, smell the salty air, and feel the warm breeze caress their skin. If only one could make it she thought, then it will be a good day.  With that thought and silent prayer, Carol stood up to get another cup of coffee and begin the day.  However, the others were not silent today.  She could hear things such as, “Let’s skip all this and go shopping,” one said. Another one stated, “I’m tired, why do we have to help everyone?” “The house is a mess and I must clean, you can’t go to work until I am finished with MY work.”  She ignored all of it and threw on some clothes, brushed her teeth haphazardly, and roughly brushed her hair into a ponytail almost running out the door and forgetting her laptop and phone.  “Too much noise!” thought Carol, and I don’t have time for them.  And that was how this particular day started.   Carol knew that nightfall was the worst part of the others having complete control, but mornings were also a busy time for the others.  It was always best to just get busy doing what she was told she had a talent for, listening.  The others would have to wait until she returned in the evening, unless of course, she needed their help during a session.  Then like a light switch, one would show up and take over for Carol and finish the session.  This usually occurred when she was dealing with traumatized children.  Truth be told, Carol didn’t particularly like playing children’s games, so in the end Elizabeth who was approximately 9 years old would show up and play games with them while Carol asked those terrible questions such as “Has anyone ever touched you in a way you didn’t like?”  Carol and Elizabeth were a good team, and Carol appreciated her help.  

There were other things on Carol’s mind that morning.  Carol wasn’t ready for those other things, even though they were mounting in the back of her mind like a tower of books ready to topple over at any given moment.  Her past for example.  She had felt like she had dealt with it before, “6 long years of counseling should have solved those issues, right?” was her mantra. Those 6 years did help quite a bit but never quite killed the Loneliness that lived within her. It also did nothing to thwart the feelings that someone else was watching-- always waiting, waiting, watching, ready to strike if necessary to anyone who got close enough to her carefully built walls that surrounded her.  

Arriving at work, Carol’s first client reminded her of her own childhood. This client, a young girl, would often speak of a hooded figure that was right outside the window waiting to get inside.    She said he would try to talk but she couldn’t understand what he was saying other that she should harm herself or he would.  She would often harm herself to keep the hooded figure at bay.  When Carol asked her what other secrets she was keeping besides “The Big One” the girl would shrug her shoulders and ask to leave therapy. But today was different. The hooded figure was nearby causing the girl to dig her fingers deep into her skin making lines of blood that dripped from her legs.  It was in this state that she said she had another secret to tell.  Almost knowing what the girl would say, Carol leaned forward to listen to the girl’s quiet statement about the “people” that lived inside her head.  She was afraid she said and had been for years, because they were uncontrollable…Carol could vividly relate to this because there was at least one in her own head.  All Carol could do that particular day was ask for a drawing of how “her people” behaved and what their jobs were.  When the girl left, Carol knew exactly what the girl was trying to show and say.  She knew, because she could almost draw a picture the same way as the girl.  That someone who was part of Carol eagerly stared at the drawing, taking it all in. Carol knew that she needed to save the girl before she became a shadow of Carol. The girl needed to live and not just exist as Carol did every day.  Carol knew what she had to do to save her, but it frightened her. She knew she would have to go into the abyss of her own mind to reach out and save the girl.  She wasn’t sure she was ready.  After all, this someone within Carol was not completely within Carol’s control—an unknown factor that Carol was scared of herself. 

 

Carol woke up the next morning after working 12 hours curled up in a ball on the living room couch feeling exhausted.  Not physically; after all she had been asleep for a good 8 hours, but mentally feeling like she couldn’t put two coherent words together.  She pushed with all of the strength in her and sluggishly started heading straight for the coffee machine to pull herself together.  Although making coffee was a relatively easy task, that alone took much energy out of her, enough to want to go back to bed or wherever there was a pillow and a blanket.  She forced herself to grab a coffee mug and make herself a cup of coffee and then headed to her usual spot outside with the dog whose life knew nothing but neglect until it came to permanently live with Carol.  Carol knew that she should have the dog on a leash, but the dog seemed to instinctively know it’s limits within the cul de sac in which Carol lived.  Carol started drinking her elixir as she personally called it and slowly came to life.  It’s Friday she thought, but is it? She quickly went through as best as she could the events of the week and decided, yes, it’s Friday. “I made it,” she muttered to herself as she took the last sip of her elixir and called for the dog who came running to her side. Carol got up and moved back indoors to look at her calendar and see which clients she had for the day.  Some were easy in her mind, they just needed someone to talk to while others needed preparation on Carol’s part so that they could have a good session and gain some kind of hope during the session.  Carol also knew that by helping her clients she was giving herself a sliver of hope.  A hope that one day she could look at her scarred body and not have The Loneliness come. She too realized the preparation for was herself—she was tired of feeling, feeling her own emotions, her family’s emotions, and her clients’ emotions.  Carol considered herself a very good therapist but she knew if her secrets came out, her colleagues would consider her an “impaired therapist” and she would never work again in this profession.  She knew it all too well, and kept her secrets hidden at an enormous price both mentally and emotionally.  It has to be done she thought.  My therapist told me herself.  This in fact was true, because just before Carol’s former therapist passed away told her, “You can work in this field and be very successful, Carol.  But you can never, never share your secrets even if you feel like it would be helpful. Never share your story.” Carol worked endlessly at this, keeping her own secrets, keeping her clients’ secrets, and anyone else who had a secret to share.  After all, this was her “calling” as her psychiatrist told her.  “This is not a job!” he would often tell Carol.  “This is a calling. You have been called to help others.”  

 

The day with the girl proved to be a futile attempt in eliciting more information about the picture she drew. “She doesn’t want to talk today, because she is scared,” thought Carol. However, she was unsure exactly what fears the girl held today.  The sky outside had turned cloudy, and the wind had begun to pick up and cause small, swirling tornadoes of dust just outside the window.  The girl seemed to be not in the present moment and dissociated to a place where no one could reach her.  Carol used all her therapeutic interventions to bring her focused back to the present moment but with no avail.  Finally, after listening to the clock tick for what must have felt like hours, the girl spoke up and said something.  Mumbling at first, the girl simply said, “he is trying to get in the building.”  Carol looked over to where the girl had been staring and asked if he was over there. She nodded yes, and said, “he wants me to do bad things to myself.”  “What kind of things?” asked Carol with a soft, even voice.  “He wants me to hurt myself,” she stated.  She then began to cry and told her of the two rooms that were the safest in the building.  The first one was Carol’s office; the other was the supervising therapist’s office. She believed that the hooded figure would at some point come into the building and those two rooms would be the only place that could protect her.  After this brief conversation the girl stated she wanted to listen to music.  Carol fumbled for her phone and let the girl choose songs to listen to off her phone. This appeared to comfort the girl for the rest of the session and then left quietly from Carol’s office. Upon leaving, the girl turned back and caught Carol’s eye.  The girl was terrified to leave, but knew it was someone else’s turn. 

 

Carol held the next person from coming into the room for a few minutes.  She locked her office and went to the supervisor’s room and showed her colleague the picture and retold the story of the past two sessions.  It was clear that more help would be needed; a psychologist to assess the girl for things of which Carol prayed she did not have, but knew in her heart she was right.  

 

 

The Housekeeper

 

The Housekeeper showed up two days later after Carol had seen the girl.  Carol was never there when the housekeeper came, but Carol recognized her presence only after she had left or was on her way out the door.  The Housekeeper was not the best, but she managed to keep the home from becoming in total disarray.  There would be neatly arranged piles of “stuff” for each family member to take to their room and put away, the dishes would be done, countertops would be wiped off, laundry would be done, and bathrooms cleaned.  Carol marveled how she could do so much since Carol didn’t care about cleaning the house or any kind of upkeep.  Carol’s children knew the housekeeper; they both had met her and disliked her very much.  According to Carol’s children, the housekeeper could clean but was “not nice.” They would tell Carol that they hated her the most of anyone who came to the home because of her monotone voice and lack of any emotion.  The housekeeper was considered to be an unwanted member of the household but a much needed one.  Sometimes Carol would hear a “Dean will be home in 15 minutes you’d better hurry.”  Then Carol would quickly return home, and the Housekeeper would be gone.  Carol had ignored the warning before and her husband had met the Housekeep and disliked her immensely.  Dean even questioned what the deal was with the Housekeeper, and all Carol could muster herself to say was, “she must have been in a bad mood.”  Carol did not explain to her husband about the arrangement that had been made between the two of them. After all, the Housekeeper did do her job and kept the house together-something Carol wasn’t great at. Because the housekeeper and Carol were never together at the same time, often times Carol would spend what seemed like hours finding things like her car keys, or a pot in the kitchen, the mail, and other miscellaneous items.  The children would often roll their eyes when Carol would ask the children on an almost daily basis, “Where are my car keys?, or Where is my phone, have you seen it?”  The children even set up a system where Carol could put things in the same place each day.  Each time the housekeeper came she would move it.  Carol knew she and the Housekeeper were at odds, but the Housekeeper was a powerful woman who took charge and made Carol feel very small.  Thus, Carol continued to put up with the Housekeeper even when things went completely missing, which also wasn’t unusual.  

            Carol was still completely intrigued by the girl a few days later (at least in Carol’s mind.) In fact, it was the following week when Carol came to her senses and realized the date.  It was in fact a Saturday, and Carol felt the urge to do nothing but go shopping.  With every credit card she owned in her purse, Carol set off for a nearby town to have some relaxation and some fun by herself.  Four hours later, Carol had racked up a good amount of money buying endless clothes.  Some were her size, some were not, some were Carol’s style, other’s looked like they were teenybopper clothes.  Carol felt a twitch of guilt, but shopping appeased The Loneliness as well as obnoxious voices in her head telling her, “this would be perfect for me!”, or “I like ruffles! Can I have the pink one?”  Of course, when Carol returned home, the clothes would sit in the closet unused for days or months.  Carol would return to them only to not really understand why they were there in the first place.  Then she would painstakingly find the receipt and return everything but the clothes that fit feeling guilty the entire time.  She also knew eventually Dean would ask why there were so many charges on the credit card and ask, “Where does all your money go?,” to which Carol of course had no real answer so she would lie or shrug her shoulders and listen to a lecture on budgeting her money.  

Added a forum 

I've read all of your comments which were very helpful to me.....the show and tell.....still learning so I need help with that.  I can also see that my writing is still somewhat passive, so need help with that, also what I submitted was also a bit confusing for some.  I have made some changes.  I would love to see where I am at with all the feedback, I still have so much to learn!  Thanks in advance for the help!

Thank you for reading this!  I appreciate the feedback.  I agree it's a bit clunky if that's a word.  I have a lot of editing and changes to make.  I hope to submit an updated one with more writing soon.  As I sure with everyone, life can get so hectic we forget to take time for ourselves!  Thanks once again, truly appreciated your kind words and your encouragement!

As I am also still learning to use this group, I wanted to thank each person individually for their feedback. However, still learning that! Thank you so much, all of you for your feedback and helpful insights to help me continue on the path.  I so appreciate all that you have shared!  Have a wonderful day; I hope to have a more coherent piece soon!  Much love to you all!


Added a forum 

The Loneliness

There were many things Carol had learned in her 49 years of life, one of which was that the thing she called The Loneliness was loud, almost too loud for her to bear each day.  It usually started at dusk, when the sun set over the mountains.  There always was that moment where it was picture perfect, and life seemed completely in balance…then the sun faded over the mountain tops and The Loneliness would start creeping in, almost silently at first but by late evening it sounded like a moaning woman lamenting in her sadness of whatever it was that pained her.  There was nothing Carol could do.  Each night it came.  It didn’t matter if her house were full of guests or her family was scrambling around doing last minute tasks before bedtime.  The Loneliness was always louder and permeated her body to her very soul.  In fact, the Loneliness caused her each evening to become frozen, very much like a statue, sitting in the corner of her couch…watching, watching the others move about.  Carol couldn’t move. The Loneliness won every night.

            

It was another typical night with The Loneliness creeping in causing Carol to shiver even though she wasn’t cold.  She scrambled from her usual spot on the couch and made a half-hearted attempt to straighten her house before the noise became too loud.  She often wondered if The Loneliness would ever change from a lamenting woman to sounds and words that she could understand.  She wondered if then she could then determine maybe, possibly what The Loneliness wanted.

 

 She was considered the peacemaker, the listener, the non judgmental person by those who knew her.  If only they knew of her secrets and the sounds she listened to each night.  Soon her husband would be asleep snoring, and her daughter in her room using social media to connect with friends.  Carol could never decide which was worse—when everyone left so she couldn’t watch them; or having them nearby where she could see what they were doing.  She had almost determined that having them around was safer, because they helped drown out the noise in her own head.  

 

The loneliness wasn’t the only thing that haunted her each day. Although she considered the night the darkest of hours in her mind, each day was it’s own beast in it’s own right.  Carol knew that part of The Loneliness fed off her work she considered a calling during the day.  Everyday was different for Carol, and although she knew it was her calling in life-she considered it both a beautiful thing but also the food that fed the monster.   But Carol loved what she did and shouldn’t one love your work, your calling?

 

And yes, there were other things.  Carol wasn’t ready for those other things, even though they were mounting in the back of her mind like a tower of books ready to topple over at any given moment.  Her past for example.  She had felt like she had dealt with it before, “6 long years of counseling should have solved those issues, right?” was her mantra. Those 6 years did help quite a bit but never quite killed the monster that lived within her. Always, waiting, waiting, watching, ready to strike if neccessary to anyone who reached close to her carefully built walls that surrounded her.  

 

Her newest and most encounter with the monster came from a recent client who reminded her of her childhood self.  This client, a young girl, would often speak of a hooded figure that was right outside the window waiting to get inside.    She said he would try to talk but she couldn’t understand what he was saying other that she should harm herself or he would.  She would often harm herself to keep the hooded figure at bay.  When Carol asked her what other secrets she was keeping besides “The Big One” the girl would shrug her shoulders and ask to leave therapy. But today was different.. The hooded figure was nearby causing the girl to dig her fingers deep into her skin making lines of blood that dripped from her legs.  It was in this state that she said she had another secret to tell.  Almost knowing what the girl would say, Carol leaned forward to listen to the girl’s quiet statement about the “people” that lived inside her head.  She was afraid she said and had been for years, because they were uncontrollable…Carol could vividly relate to this because there was at least one in her own head.   All Carol could do that particular day was ask for a drawing of how “her people” behaved and what their jobs were.   When the girl left, Carol knew exactly what the girl was trying to show and say.  She knew, because she could almost draw a picture the same way as the girl.   The monster in Carol eagerly stared at the drawing, taking it all in. Carol knew that she needed to save the girl before she became a shadow of Carol.  The girl needed to live and not just exist as Carol did every day.  Carol knew what she had to do to save her, but it frightened her. She knew she would have to go into the abyss of her own mind to reach out and save the girl.  She wasn’t sure she was ready.  After all, the monster within her was still alive feeding off the picture, endlessly tormenting her and then handing it over to The Loneliness of the night.   

 

Carol woke up the next morning after working 12 hours curled up in a ball on the living room couch feeling exhausted.  Not physically; after all she had been asleep for a good 8 hours, but mentally feeling like she couldn’t put two coherent words together.  She pushed with all of the strength in her and sluggishly started heading straight for the coffee machine to pull herself together.   Although making coffee was a relatively easy task, that alone took much energy out of her, enough to want to go back to bed or wherever there was a pillow and a blanket.  She forced herself to grab a coffee mug and make herself a cup of coffee and then headed to her usual spot outside with the dog whose life knew nothing but neglect until it came to permanently live with Carol.  Carol knew that she should have the dog on a leash, but the dog seemed to instinctly know it’s limits within the cul de sac in which Carol lived.  Carol started drinking her elixir as she personally called it and slowly came to life.  It’s Friday she thought, but is it? She quickly went through as best as she could the events of the week and decided, yes, it’s Friday. “I made it,” she muttered to herself as she took the last sip of her elixir and called for the dog who came running to her side. Carol got up and moved back indoors to look at her calendar and see which clients she had for the day.  Some were easy in her mind, they just needed someone to talk to while others needed preparation on Carol’s part so that they could have a good session and gain some kind of hope during the session.  Carol also knew that by helping her clients she was giving herself a sliver of hope.   A hope that one day she could look at her scarred body and not have The Loneliness come. She too realized the preparation for was herself—she was tired of feeling, feeling her own emotions, her family’s emotions, and her clients’ emotions.  Carol considered herself a very good therapist but she knew if her secrets came out, her colleagues would consider her an “impaired therapist” and she would never work again in this profession.  She knew it all too well, and kept her secrets hidden at an enormous price both mentally and emotionally.  It has to be done she thought.  My therapist told me herself.  This in fact was true, just before Janet who was Carol’s former therapist told her, “You can work in this field and be very successful, Carol.  But you can never, never share your secrets even if you feel like it would be helpful. Never share your story.” Carol worked endlessly at this, keeping her own secrets, keeping her clients’ secrets, and anyone else who had a secret to share.  After all, this was her calling as her psychiatrist told her.  “This is not a job!” he would often tell Carol.   “This is a calling. You have been called to help others.”  

 

 

The Housekeeper

 

The Housekeeper showed up two days later after Carol had seen the girl.  Carol was never there when the housekeeper came, but recognized her presence only after she had left or was on her way out the door.  The Housekeeper was not the best, but she managed to keep the home from becoming in total disarray.  There would be neatly arranged piles of “stuff” for each family member to take to their room and put away, the dishes would be done, countertops would be wiped off, laundry would be done, and bathrooms cleaned.  Carol marveled how she could do so much since Carol didn’t care about cleaning the house or any kind of upkeep.  Carol’s children knew the housekeeper; they both had met her and disliked her very much.  According to Carol’s children, the housekeeper could clean but was “not nice.” They would tell Carol that they hated her the most of anyone who came to the home because of her monotone voice and lack of any emotion.  The housekeeper was considered to be an unwanted member of the household but a much needed one.  Sometimes Carol would hear a “Dean will be home in 15 minutes you’d better hurry.”   Then Carol would quickly return home, and the Housekeeper would be gone.  Carol had ignored the warning before and her husband had met the Housekeep and disliked her immensely.  Dean even questioned what the deal was with the Housekeeper, and all Carol could muster herself to say was, “she must have been in a bad mood.”  Carol did not explain to her husband about the arrangement that had been made between the two of them. After all, the Housekeeper did do her job and kept the house together-something Carol wasn’t great at.  

 

 

 

 

Hi Harry,

My book is about a therapist who works with trauma clients. As the therapist and a particular client's life become immeshed, the main character plummets back into the abyss of her own trauma that she had once processed during her own therapy.  The story is really about the main character and watching her mind completely unravel as she deals with her own client, and her own journey through the darkness of her own trauma.  This is my first attempt at writing and having anything critiqued that is of a creative nature; I am very much a research writer.  The title of the book tentatively is called "The Loneliness." 

Yes, although it is slow in coming because I am trying to figure out how to place the pieces of the picture in the story so flows and is not so disjointed.  It's almost like doing a real puzzle, and trying to make each piece fit!  I have such respect for creative writers! :). I am learning!

Added a post 

I've done some rewriting, and added more to it this week.  It is slow in coming.  All feedback is appreciated as I am a novice!


The Loneliness

There were many things Carol had learned in her 49 years of life, one of which was that the thing she called The Loneliness was loud, almost too loud for her to bear each day.  It usually started at dusk, when the sun set over the mountains.  There always was that moment where it was picture perfect, and life seemed completely in balance…then the sun faded over the mountain tops and The Loneliness would start creeping in, almost silently at first but by late evening it sounded like a moaning woman lamenting in her sadness of whatever it was that pained her.  There was nothing Carol could do.  Each night it came.  It didn’t matter if her house were full of guests or her family was scrambling around doing last minute tasks before bedtime.  The Loneliness was always louder and permeated her body to her very soul.  In fact, the Loneliness caused her each evening to become frozen, very much like a statue, sitting in the corner of her couch…watching, watching the others move about.  Carol couldn’t move. The Loneliness won every night.

            

It was another typical night with The Loneliness creeping in causing Carol to shiver even though she wasn’t cold.  She scrambled from her usual spot on the couch and made a half-hearted attempt to straighten her house before the noise became too loud.  She often wondered if The Loneliness would ever change from a lamenting woman to sounds and words that she could understand.  She wondered if then she could then determine maybe, possibly what The Loneliness wanted.

 

 She was considered the peacemaker, the listener, the non judgmental person by those who knew her.  If only they knew of her secrets and the sounds she listened to each night.  Soon her husband would be asleep snoring, and her daughter in her room using social media to connect with friends.  Carol could never decide which was worse—when everyone left so she couldn’t watch them; or having them nearby where she could see what they were doing.  She had almost determined that having them around was safer, because they helped drown out the noise in her own head.  

 

The loneliness wasn’t the only thing that haunted her each day. Although she considered the night the darkest of hours in her mind, each day was it’s own beast in it’s own right.  Carol knew that part of The Loneliness fed off her work she considered a calling during the day.  Everyday was different for Carol, and although she knew it was her calling in life-she considered it both a beautiful thing but also the food that fed the monster.   But Carol loved what she did and shouldn’t one love your work, your calling?

 

And yes, there were other things.  Carol wasn’t ready for those other things, even though they were mounting in the back of her mind like a tower of books ready to topple over at any given moment.  Her past for example.  She had felt like she had dealt with it before, “6 long years of counseling should have solved those issues, right?” was her mantra. Those 6 years did help quite a bit but never quite killed the monster that lived within her. Always, waiting, waiting, watching, ready to strike if neccessary to anyone who reached close to her carefully built walls that surrounded her.  

 

Her newest and most encounter with the monster came from a recent client who reminded her of her childhood self.  This client, a young girl, would often speak of a hooded figure that was right outside the window waiting to get inside.    She said he would try to talk but she couldn’t understand what he was saying other that she should harm herself or he would.  She would often harm herself to keep the hooded figure at bay.  When Carol asked her what other secrets she was keeping besides “The Big One” the girl would shrug her shoulders and ask to leave therapy. But today was different.. The hooded figure was nearby causing the girl to dig her fingers deep into her skin making lines of blood that dripped from her legs.  It was in this state that she said she had another secret to tell.  Almost knowing what the girl would say, Carol leaned forward to listen to the girl’s quiet statement about the “people” that lived inside her head.  She was afraid she said and had been for years, because they were uncontrollable…Carol could vividly relate to this because there was at least one in her own head.   All Carol could do that particular day was ask for a drawing of how “her people” behaved and what their jobs were.   When the girl left, Carol knew exactly what the girl was trying to show and say.  She knew, because she could almost draw a picture the same way as the girl.   The monster in Carol eagerly stared at the drawing, taking it all in. Carol knew that she needed to save the girl before she became a shadow of Carol.  The girl needed to live and not just exist as Carol did every day.  Carol knew what she had to do to save her, but it frightened her. She knew she would have to go into the abyss of her own mind to reach out and save the girl.  She wasn’t sure she was ready.  After all, the monster within her was still alive feeding off the picture, endlessly tormenting her and then handing it over to The Loneliness of the night.   

 

Carol woke up the next morning after working 12 hours curled up in a ball on the living room couch feeling exhausted.  Not physically; after all she had been asleep for a good 8 hours, but mentally feeling like she couldn’t put two coherent words together.  She pushed with all of the strength in her and sluggishly started heading straight for the coffee machine to pull herself together.   Although making coffee was a relatively easy task, that alone took much energy out of her, enough to want to go back to bed or wherever there was a pillow and a blanket.  She forced herself to grab a coffee mug and make herself a cup of coffee and then headed to her usual spot outside with the dog whose life knew nothing but neglect until it came to permanently live with Carol.  Carol knew that she should have the dog on a leash, but the dog seemed to instinctly know it’s limits within the cul de sac in which Carol lived.  Carol started drinking her elixir as she personally called it and slowly came to life.  It’s Friday she thought, but is it? She quickly went through as best as she could the events of the week and decided, yes, it’s Friday. “I made it,” she muttered to herself as she took the last sip of her elixir and called for the dog who came running to her side. Carol got up and moved back indoors to look at her calendar and see which clients she had for the day.  Some were easy in her mind, they just needed someone to talk to while others needed preparation on Carol’s part so that they could have a good session and gain some kind of hope during the session.  Carol also knew that by helping her clients she was giving herself a sliver of hope.   A hope that one day she could look at her scarred body and not have The Loneliness come. She too realized the preparation for was herself—she was tired of feeling, feeling her own emotions, her family’s emotions, and her clients’ emotions.  Carol considered herself a very good therapist but she knew if her secrets came out, her colleagues would consider her an “impaired therapist” and she would never work again in this profession.  She knew it all too well, and kept her secrets hidden at an enormous price both mentally and emotionally.  It has to be done she thought.  My therapist told me herself.  This in fact was true, just before Janet who was Carol’s former therapist told her, “You can work in this field and be very successful, Carol.  But you can never, never share your secrets even if you feel like it would be helpful. Never share your story.” Carol worked endlessly at this, keeping her own secrets, keeping her clients’ secrets, and anyone else who had a secret to share.  After all, this was her calling as her psychiatrist told her.  “This is not a job!” he would often tell Carol.   “This is a calling. You have been called to help others.”  

 

 

The Housekeeper

 

The Housekeeper showed up two days later after Carol had seen the girl.  Carol was never there when the housekeeper came, but recognized her presence only after she had left or was on her way out the door.  The Housekeeper was not the best, but she managed to keep the home from becoming in total disarray.  There would be neatly arranged piles of “stuff” for each family member to take to their room and put away, the dishes would be done, countertops would be wiped off, laundry would be done, and bathrooms cleaned.  Carol marveled how she could do so much since Carol didn’t care about cleaning the house or any kind of upkeep.  Carol’s children knew the housekeeper; they both had met her and disliked her very much.  According to Carol’s children, the housekeeper could clean but was “not nice.” They would tell Carol that they hated her the most of anyone who came to the home because of her monotone voice and lack of any emotion.  The housekeeper was considered to be an unwanted member of the household but a much needed one.  Sometimes Carol would hear a “Dean will be home in 15 minutes you’d better hurry.”   Then Carol would quickly return home, and the Housekeeper would be gone.  Carol had ignored the warning before and her husband had met the Housekeep and disliked her immensely.  Dean even questioned what the deal was with the Housekeeper, and all Carol could muster herself to say was, “she must have been in a bad mood.”  Carol did not explain to her husband about the arrangement that had been made between the two of them. After all, the Housekeeper did do her job and kept the house together-something Carol wasn’t great at.  

 

 

 

 

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