Chapter 29

"Thank you for seeing me," I said as I looked around the small office. A small waterfall that was meant to sound peaceful and soothing sat on the single shelf, and the table to my right held a basket filled with fidgets and a box of tissues.

"It's my pleasure," Blythe, the therapist seated across from me, said. "Gina demanded that I take you in today."

I laughed. "She's a good friend."

"And a great niece. So, where would you like to begin?" Blythe asked, pushing her rectangular glasses up from the tip of her nose where they kept slipping to.

"I've been having panic attacks for a year."

"That must be very scary," she said.

I shrugged.

"Do you know what triggers them?"

"Situations that feel out of my control," I explained.

"And do you often feel that you're placed in situations that are out of your control?"

"This year? Yes. Before that, I thought I had the perfect life."

"Well, panic attacks are the body's way of handling those situations. Fight or flight. Do you remember what caused the first one?"

"What I say here is confidential, right?" I asked.

She nodded. "Unless I'm worried for your safety or the safety of others."

"I understand," I said, noticing a painting on the wall of a woman alone on a beach holding her hat to her head, as if the wind would take it if she didn't. I couldn't help but see the parallel to my life. On the beach, I was at peace, but something kept happening to try to steal away my happiness.

"So, you were going to tell me what caused the first panic attack," she prompted.

I looked back to her. "I found out my father had an affair and fathered a child."

"That's some pretty heavy stuff," she said.

"It's bullshit," I said matter-of-factly.

"How have you been handling the attacks?"

"I breathe."

"Breathing's very important. Does it always work?"

I shrugged. "Eventually."

"Well, just know, that won't always work. Sometimes the attacks are more intense than you can handle with simply breathing."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. I have a feeling worse ones are yet to come."

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"I just found out my father cheated with another woman and fathered another child."

"Oh," she said.

"And…" I grabbed a fidget and toyed with the buttons on the square gadget.

"Go on," she prompted.

"The child I just found out about…" I pressed the buttons on the fidget, unable to say the words aloud.

"Take your time," she offered.

"It turns out that child is my boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend now."

She blinked hard, though she recovered quickly. "That would certainly cause more intense attacks. But you seem to be dealing right now."

"I'm good at faking it," I said.

She grinned. "Aren't we all? But, truthfully, tell me how you're feeling about what you just discovered."

"Truthfully?"

She nodded.

"I want to scream until I lose my voice. I want to hit something with a bat until I can't swing it any longer. I want my father out of my life forever. And, I want this all to be a vicious joke."

"Those are normal feelings when we're grieving."

"How can I be grieving if no one died?"

"Losing someone in a tragic way like you did is like death. You go through all the same emotions. Denial is the first stage of grief. You wanting it to be a joke is you wanting to deny that this is unfortunately your new reality. Anger is the second stage. You wanting to hit something or scream—rightfully so—fits that stage."

"So, if I go through all the stages, will I still have my panic attacks?"

"I don't know. But, you sought me out. Therapy is a great first step. Have you considered medication?" she asked.

"I don't want to be medicated."

"That is your choice. But just know there's nothing wrong with using medication to help with something that's out of your control. There are many options out there—some stronger than others."

I shook my head. "I don't want to go that route."

"Then you won't. Let's discuss other techniques then."

* * *

My headlights led the way as I picked up Gina in my mom's Jeep and drove to the next town over.

"Just tell me where we're going?" she asked, staring out the window at the passing restaurants and stores.

"Nope."

"Are we meeting anyone there?"

"Nope."

"And you said this was my aunt's suggestion?"

"Yup." I flipped on my blinker and pulled into a parking lot.

Gina read the big neon sign. "Smash Zone?" She looked to me confused.

"You ready to break stuff?"

Once we were in our one-piece jumpsuits, helmets with face shields, ear covers, and gloves, we were led into a dark room lit only with black lights making the graffiti on the walls glow. The worker pointed to the rack of weapons we could choose from: a hammer, sledgehammer, bat, crowbar, metal pipe. I grabbed the bat and Gina grabbed the hammer.

"Once the music begins, you can start smashing," he said to me. He glanced to Gina who seemed completely out of her element assessing the bottles, mannequins, mirrors, tires, and windows that we could rage out on. "Just make sure your friend is nowhere near you when you begin," he instructed me.

I laughed to myself as he stepped out of the room. I looked around at the many smashable items, and my body itched to begin.

A few seconds later, heavy metal music blared into the room.

"Ready?" I yelled to Gina.

She shrug-nodded.

I swung the bat with everything I had at the bottles dangling from ropes from the ceiling. They smashed instantly. Gina lifted her arms over her head to protect herself from flying glass, even though the protective gear wouldn't let anything hurt her.

I turned to a nearby window propped up on the floor. I swung the bat, smashing all the glass panes.

I looked to Gina. "Hit something!" I yelled over the music.

She turned to a mirror and hit it with her hammer. It made a small spiderweb fissure.

"Swing harder!" I yelled.

She did, winding up and smashing the mirror completely. She spun to look at me. "This is fun!" she yelled.

I laughed.

We spent the next half an hour making sure that not a single smashable item in the room was left un-smashed. It felt so damn good to break things. To get my anger out. To feel free. I needed the release more than I realized.