Chapter 5: Mara

The next morning is Thursday, and I wake up confused. Foggy. Things feel more normal, but also… not. Today is the day grandma is having her surgery. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I get up and I get dressed slowly. Black leggings and a cozy grey sweater. Also, a sense of black dissolving, at the edge of my mind. I gather my things together, put them into my leather purse. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Water bottle. I grab an oversized scarf and wrap it around my neck. Boots. The ground feels like it’s tilted in a direction, but I can’t tell if it’s forwards or backwards. Or to the side. It’s cold outside, compared to previous days. Sixty degrees Fahrenheit, maybe. Which would be fifteen degrees Celsius. The coldness becomes part of the dissolving, like little ice crystals turning into water drops at the periphery.

I get into my car to drive to work. I’m still moving slowly, as if I’m not sure of the reality around me. Whatever that was yesterday, it definitely upset my sense of realness. Things feel unsolid, ephemeral. I get to my office, glad to be able to put my butt in a chair. My client this morning is a guy named Will, who is in his early twenties and struggling with depression. He arrives a few minutes late. “Hi Leia”, he greets me. “Hi Will!” I echo warmly. My voice sounds strange in my ears. The warmth sounds tinny, like a tiny robot speaking far away. 

“How are you doing today?” I ask Will. It’s strange that we ask that question. Formulaic. Strange how much of our daily lives is lived through little formulas. “I’m okay” Will says. Okay, with Will, usually means not so great. “What’s going on?” I ask. He shrugs. “I don’t know. Just… tired.” As he speaks I can feel what he means. The tiredness is like a big grey cloud around his head, a dense, fog-like substance that moves less than the air around it. Somehow I’d never noticed that. I shake my head, as if to shake off the fog. I really must still be feeling a little weird from yesterday. The fog has a quality that draws you in. As I pay attention to it I notice that it has little black tendrils, pervading it. They seem rather unpleasant. Like they’d hurt you if you touched them. 

I shake my head again, and continue with my therapist script. “How has your week been, Will?” He pauses, as if my words have to first find their way through the fog before he can interact with them. “It’s been… okay”, he says again. The words come slowly, almost like he is a little confused by the question. Like the fog is confusing him, making him slow. I can feel the effort it must take to move words through this fog. Like one would need to use one’s facial muscles to generate enough force to push anything outwards. I can tell that Will wants to, that he wants to connect to the world around him. It’s just somehow too hard with that fog there.

“How is your mom doing?” I ask Will. His mom has cancer and has been in and out of the hospital. “Not so great”, he answers. The fog becomes a little denser, its grey color a little darker. “How do you feel about it?” I continue to probe, almost on autopilot. My impression had previously been that the depression is connected to his mom’s illness. It started around the time she got sick. As he starts telling me more details I watch the black tendrils swirl around. They move at different speeds, the ones to the front are faster than the ones around the back of his head. And denser. The tendrils scare me a little. Like there is something hidden inside that fog that shouldn’t come out. A dangerous knowledge, that we’re not ready for. “…And then she said she was okay. But I could tell she wasn’t really okay.” I snap back to what Will is saying. I’m really usually not this distractable. “Why do you think she said that?” I ask, buying myself some time to catch up to what he has been saying. 

In the background, in my mind, things have started dissolving again. It’s hard to form coherent thoughts, to follow my usual therapist protocols. It’s hard to do anything but watch Will’s fog and the tendrils swirling in it. Something about them is hypnotic, like it won’t let you go. Will is talking a little more animately now, even though I’m barely following. “…It’s like she doesn’t really acknowledge that she’s sick.” I nod, trying to get my wits together, to say something insightful in response. The moments pass, and my mind generates a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of dissolving. Will continues. 

My mind keeps wandering to grandma. She must be having the surgery about now. About now she’s on an operating table, unconscious, her back cut open. I try not to think about the details, the instruments they’ll use to fuse her vertabrae. The black tendrils have me now too, swirling around my head, spreading out between us and around the room. “Leia?” Will asks, gently, trying to get my attention. I jerk my gaze back to him, making eye contact. “Sorry”, I say. “I’m here.” 

The session ends, and Will leaves my office. He seems marginally more chipper, which is good. I barely remember what happened. Part of me worries about my next session. Another part of me simply sags in the chair, feeling relief that I’ve made it this far. The dissolving has slowed a little and now feels almost pleasant. But what am I going to do about the rest of my clients today? I can’t afford to suck even more than normal at my job. So I text Mara. “Session yesterday was really cool”, I write. “Feeling pretty weird today. Do you have time to meet?” She gets back to me quickly, making me feel relieved. Maybe she can help me figure out how to get back to being myself. I step outside my office, grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen and sit on the steps, soaking in the sunshine.

Mara truly is beautiful. I’m on break inbetween clients and we’ve decided to get coffee at a little cafe on Piedmont Avenue. The sunlight is streaming through the oversized windows, causing Mara’s long, wavy red hair to look like tiny flames. The black dissolving is mixing with the flames in Mara’s hair, creating an effect that’s as visual as it is emotional. It makes me feel like I’m sitting next to a movie star. Or like I am a movie star. I vaguely wish I could pull out a camera and capture the effect, knowing full well that that’s just about impossible. The waiter stops by our table to bring drinks. I’m having a large coffee. Mara is having a cup of herbal tea. His arrival pulls me out of my reverie, reminding me of why we’re here.

“How was your session?” Mara asks. Her tone is gentle. Soft. Something about the softness grates on me, making me wish all of a sudden I hadn’t come. I’d thought I could talk to Mara about what happened but now I’m not so sure. “It was really weird.” I say. Because I have to say something, don’t I? My tone comes out weird, as if I’m accusing her of something. Mara looks at me, a tinge of confusion layering the softness. “Yeah?” she asks, directing a soft, warm smile my way. I frown at her. “Yeah” I say. But I don’t say anything else. Somehow I’m really annoyed now, annoyed that she’s thrown me into this weird place without any warning. Like I didn’t have enough going on already, and now I have to deal with distracting altered states that make no sense. No sense whatsoever, really. The black dissolving is pulling on me, and pulling on the edges of my emotional self-control. 

“What’s going on?” Mara asks. She’s less soft now. I don’t know what she is. Worried, maybe. Or annoyed that I’m showing up like this, accusing her. I guess it’s not really her fault that I feel this way. I try to pull myself together. “What is this thing?” I ask, trying to keep my tone level. “I feel like I’m dissolving. And I can’t focus on anything. It’s really messing up my work. Did you know this was going to happen?” Mara shakes her head, a tiny, minuscule motion, as if she’s trying to throw off a sense of confusion herself. Then she cocks her head to the right, as if to study me. “Can you tell me more about how you feel?” she asks. I frown at her. “You’re not really answering my question” I say. “Just asking more questions.” Mara frowns too. “Leia” she says, her tone an attempt to be firm. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” “I am talking to you” I say. I sound sullen, like an angry child, throwing a tantrum. Part of me is watching this, is noticing that I’m behaving unreasonably. But somehow I don’t care enough to listen to that.

“You’re really in it” Mara says. “I didn’t expect that.” Her tone is apologetic now, soothing the red hot annoyance that seems to have taken over my body. I nod, but don’t say anything. “Breathe”, Mara says. “Take deep breaths. Let the energy run through your body and focus on just your breath.” I take a few deep breaths, glad to at least have something to do. It doesn’t calm the energy, but it does make me feel just a little more in control. Mara nods. “Focus on your feet on the floor”, Mara adds. “Try breathing towards your feet. And hands. This is just a state. It’ll pass, if you let it.” I breathe with her, every breath a slightly difficult choice. Or maybe she breathes with me, somehow helping me through each one. Slowly, very slowly, my mind calms down.

The state passes as suddenly as it had started. I take one last deep breath, making eye contact with Mara. “Sorry” I say. “I don’t know where that came from. I must be really stressed.” Mara looks at me discerningly. “It’s okay”, she says. “Energy work can bring things out, sometimes.” I let her ask me question, now, about the session with Julian, telling her about the black dissolving and my weird morning. She listens, asking questions at the right moments. The black dissolving has slowed down to a gentle edge, leaving me feel softer, and more in control. Mara orders us chocolate croissants. They’re warm and sweet and bready. I’m starting to feel almost like myself again when my phone rings. I answer, and hear my mom’s voice on the other end. “Grandma is out of surgery”, she says softly. “Everything went okay.” I stare at my plate as relief floods my body. I thank my mom and hang up. Mara puts a hand on my arm, nodding softly in understanding, as I start to cry. Things have been... too much today. I let myself cry for a while, ignoring the fact that we’re in public. It helps that Mara doesn’t seem to care either. Then we go back to our conversation.