End of Relapsing

It was my last psychotic episode. And the only one I ever experienced in a therapy session. I don’t know what our conversation had been about, or what triggered it. It came without warning. After that, I was no longer afraid of them. I knew I could cope.

It was all familiar, since I had experienced it so many times. During the past almost two years, hundreds of times. You start to sense a particular, faint movement, a slight change — in yourself and in the surroundings. It feels like a subtle twist in the brain, before the surroundings fully shift. Everything then feels different. The atmosphere, the behaviour and expressions of the people around you. You can’t be sure what or who to trust. Darkness visually closing in on you, as if enclosing you in a black circle. On the other side of that circle, only a few metres away, there is nothingness.

For a long period, it happened several times daily. Now these episodes had become rare, or rarer, perhaps monthly or bimonthly. Bearable. So I knew it would pass. I was able to keep my calm, even when his face shifted into an evil, lurking expressing. I was observing myself and the scene. Instinctively, I wanted to remove myself physically from the situation. Like so many times before.

“Can we go out?”, I used a nod to directed his attention to the door.

“Yes”, he saw the change in me but did not hesitate.

If he had hesitated, or even refused, I might have fought him. Like I did with my husband in the hotel room, after he had turned into the devil. This time I would have first presented my logic and demanded an explanation: I am 28 years old. No door has ever been closed for me open. Why now? Only someone with bad intentions would keep me captivated.

He stood up at once to open the door just a bit, so he could see if the reception area was cleared. It was not. His colleague had finished a session with another patient, and was about to handle the payment at the counter.

I was already standing, observed him for a second before moving past him through the doorway. I took a right and passed the reception area towards the arrival area, a hallway with four lift doors in a line. I pressed the button by one of the lift doors and waited for one of them to arrive. I followed the numbers shifting on the the small screens above the lift doors, to see which one would arrive first.

I focused on my breathing, waiting for it to pass. Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Exhale, two, three, four. Repeating again and again, trying to distract myself from the the racing heart and mind.

He had followed right behind me, talking to me in one go, trying to ease the situation. I was not capable of taking his words in, I nodded softly but could only hear a monotone sound coming from his blurred face. While standing next to me by the lift doors, I could sense that he made a subtle gesture towards his colleague. I don’t know what it meant. I understood it was a pressed situation for him, but I did not feel he would attempt to hold me back.

Finally, his face changed again, the evil lur disappeared. I could sense the moment passing as the darkness lost strength. It had almost let go, now I began to feel weariness from the intense emotional outburst and the still racing heart. No lift arrived.

“It’s over. We can go back inside.” I had already turned back toward the reception and was moving toward his office. The other patient was standing at the counter. I could see the recognition in her eyes, feel her compassion and empathy. We only met for a few seconds, but I felt without a doubt that we were the same. She knew.

“I’m okay now,” I said quietly as I passed by her.