CHATTER IN THE SKULL

Chapter 6 | Therapy Costs More than Booze

WELCOME BACK, SAM REED!
YOU HAVE (1) MAINTENANCE REQUEST(S).
REQUESTED IN (13/9/57), (3292) DAY(S) AGO!

DECEMBER 20TH, 1970, VIRGINIA.

"Do you think you'd ever get married?"

Sam tilted her head in question, gazing at him curiously. "Mar-Mar-Married?" She stuttered, "I don-don't know."

Jason fidgeted anxiously with the pieces of rotten wood. The two sat on a dead log, watching the cold lake ahead. Water lapped at the pebble beaches- desperate to get on land- only to fall back.

The girl threw a rock at the water.

"I don-don't think a-a-any-anyone would-" She'd take a breath, jaw twitching and throat sore, before continuing. "- Wan-Want me."

Immediately- the boy perked up. "That's not true." He retorted, "You're pretty."

Sam blushed brightly- digging her hands into her lap.

"Samantha."

She furrowed her brows-

"Samantha."

Sam fluttered her eyelashes before realizing where she was.

The 21-year-old woman sat on a plush chair in a small office. Another woman was across from her in her chair, holding a clipboard and red pen.

"... W-What were w-w-we ta-talking about?" The woman scratched her head, her stutter worsening.

Carly sighed, leaning back in her chair and scribbling notes on her clipboard. She was Sam's therapist- one she reached out to less than a year ago. 

That's right. Sam was finally getting help.

LOADING...

MAINTENANCE REQUEST CLEARED!

"We were talking about your friend." The therapist clarified, "You spaced out. Perhaps a symptom of Dissociative Disorder."

Sam readjusted herself in her seat- fiddling with strands coming off her jeans. "What... is th-th-that?"

Carly cleared her throat, "It's a disorder where your brain disconnects from reality, or yourself, as a way to "defend" itself from overwhelming emotions." The woman explained, "Sometimes, you'll simply stare off into space or begin daydreaming- otherwise known as maladaptive daydreaming."

A lot of confusing terms that she definitely didn't understand, but Sam got the gist of it. She spaced out a lot.

"I can only assume your near-death experience has caused trauma. Even worse- you witnessed death at an incredibly young age."

Sam sank into her chair- feeling uncomfortable.

"... I... I have tra-tra-trauma?" She muttered.

"I'm afraid so." Carly nodded.

There's no way. Sure, she thought back to her time at the camp a lot, but she couldn't have trauma- right?

"There are ways of taking more control over your trauma." Carly began, "When related to death.. the most important thing is going through the stages of mourning."

The ginger woman pursed her lips, "What sta-stage of mour-mour-mourning am I a-at?"

"Stage 1, Denial."

... Stage 1? Only stage 1?

"But- But it's been s-s-s-" She'd clench her jaw and fists, "So long!"

Even with years of therapy- her stutter would worsen when she was feeling intense emotion.

"I know." The older woman frowned, "You haven't given yourself a moment to mourn- which is why you've been in a constant state of denial and grief."

It was hard to think about.

She thought that she'd been mourning his death- but pretending that he never died hadn't helped at all. She's been stuck at stage 1 for a decade.

"Soon enough, A good way of facing your grief is visiting the place they passed away or a grave."

Her brows raised.

"V... Vis-Visiting C-Camp Crys-Crystal?"

"Yes indeed."