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i cleared my throat before my words just spilled from my mouth, almost as if my pen had engraved sentiency into the pages and this was the escape: “have you ever felt the shift in your body? one that takes you over like a ton of bricks, a drop in your stomach that brings your head to your knees.”
i took a breath to center myself.
“the timeline has splintered. there is a choice to be made, and the decision you make is this timeline you’re in right now. the choice you decide not to take is the splintered timeline. it happens, still. but there. away from you.
“when it hits you in a way like that one just did, a chill follows. for good reason. you’re momentarily mourning yourself subconsciously, who is unfortunately dying in the other timeline. the choice you just made saved your life.
“for me, this particular moment, in my bed, was when i decided to kill myself.
“it’s not just moments like that, either—big, momentous occasions deciding between life or death. it happens throughout the day, with little things. the donut you pick at that bakery. the car accident another-timeline-version-of-you gets into because you didn’t stop at that bakery on the way home. it’s the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. a moment when you get dizzy out of the blue. your body is reacting in little ways to the shift in the quantum universe.”
dr. karume’s voice cut through mine. “okay, hold on a second.”
i looked up from my journal, unable to contain my crack of a smile at my therapist, whose eyebrows can only be explained as being furrowed into his forehead so deep it looked as though he may consume his own hairline.
“you always wanted me to stop you when you were going too far into exaggeration,” he noted, softening a bit, “so i just want to ask, is this real or are you exaggerating a little?”
feigning shock, i held my hand away from my forehead dramatically. he humored me with a brief smile.
“no, it’s real,” i sighed, falling back to normal.
“but you wanted this, right? you signed up for… this?” he lazily gestured to encompass this entire ordeal. as if to say, “your mess.”
he leaned back in his one comfortable chair in this entire office as i squirmed in my own seat, a sofa that’s been worn in by far too many people and probably not disinfected enough. i crossed my legs once, then again the other way. fidgeting. constantly. stop it!
“i mean, yes,” i said, finding other things to look at in this office instead of dr. karume’s face. “the support groups have been great, too. having the other otters there actually makes me feel understood for once.”
i felt a little calmer just mentioning them, which surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. when you go through what we have, it bonds you—for life. no matter what your life was before, it didn’t matter. not to the otters.
dr. karume’s eyebrows displayed disagreement, washing over his face for an instant. the company didn’t approve of the “otters” nickname for us.
“i now have the certainty i wanted, you know?” i reassured myself, managing to smile at dr. karume this time. “even though it... hasn’t really stopped anything.”
“well, of course not,” dr. karume chuckled. “it never was going to. did you read section 118 of the oa manual?”
i frowned, looking back down at my journal, and the words on the pages i wrote reflected back up at me:
i suddenly had a vision of a sign outside of my apartment that said, “don’t enter unless you’re 911,” on the top floor of this dingy building.
dr. karume cleared his throat and rose from his too-expensive chair. i hadn’t noticed his suit actually matched the same shade of grey of the upholstery, which i’m not sure was a cool thing or a weird thing.
“well, lana, thank you for being so open in this week’s report,” his voice becoming more formal as it did every week. he managed to smile at me this time too. “as always, you do not have to read your journal for us and you chose to. thank you.”
i closed my journal and quickly shoved it into my shoulder bag before swinging it on over my jacket. dr. karume held out my file toward me.
“sure thing,” i nodded as i took stock of the moment in front of me. no emotion, really, i noticed. from either of us. i took the file as i stood up. wasn’t it strange, i thought, that he didn’t say anything about the suicidal ideation? any therapist i’d ever had pounced on those—i mean, for good reason.
“i’m just happy to help people manage their anxiety,” i said before i pushed his office door open. i was leaving an opening for the good doctor, and nothing came to fill the silence that followed.
this office was far too sterile to evoke any emotions from me, but perhaps that was the point. the hallway from dr. karume's office to the front desk seemed to stretch out endlessly now, even though it was a few short steps before i could turn the corner and there would be the friendly, college-aged, minimum-waged receptionist there to take my paperwork. the familiar pang of my anxiety started in my chest; a frozen lump i could feel explode into a million shards through my nerves as my limbs succumbed to the spread. i couldn’t control my reaction as my entire body shivered by its own doing, this visceral change forcing my eyes shut tightly in response.
one. two. i took a deep breath and started counting in my head, using my inner monologue to hold a question at bay that i know will set off the herd, the flow of nonstop questions that will do nothing but keep pushing me further down the rabbit hole. was the treatment working? i opened my eyes as a test. maybe. i closed my eyes once more for another deep breath. don’t start going down the rabbit hole now. seven, eight, nine... ten.
i opened my eyes and continued down the hallway, passing mass-produced art with little to no meaning within them, at least to the buyers. a fruit bowl. a girl on a horse in a field. some geometric shapes in primary colors. no themes, no meanings—just a cursory glance is sufficient to calm the jittery nerves of a first-time therapy goer.
my nerves, successfully subdued for the short walk, tingled online once more, reminding me of the wave of anxiety that i was trying to keep back—a levee before the storm.
passing the paperwork to the receptionist, i couldn’t help but try to scan the people in the waiting room. one, i recognized from the research campus. he was a tall, stocky guy, but had teddy bear vibes whenever i saw him working. the other, i didn’t recognize but she was definitely pretty. heart eyes.
“you’re all set,” she chirped. “have a wonderful rest of your day.”
leaving a therapist’s office always feels like you’ve been in a bunker for years and it’s your first time back outside.
i clutched my bag closer to me as the cold air whipped my hair, cutting across my cheeks annoyingly. i reached in my bag while shielding my eyes from the mid-afternoon sun beginning its set, bouncing between the reflections on the buildings downtown. my sunglasses—where are they? realizing it’s rush hour, i moved out of the way of the commuters, toward the building and hugged the wall as i turned my attention to my bag.
“if i left them in the office, i swear...” i muttered—
a wave crashed over my brain, rearranging my thoughts. vertigo dawned upon me and i fell back a little bit against the concrete. luckily, the passersby paid no mind, but ... why? what choice?
it couldn’t have been just me moving out the way.
“you won’t feel every little thing every time. what you feel is the absolute best timeline you could be in if you did that action or decision,” dr. karume’s words filled my head, as though i could hear them.