Shadowed Soul (20 page)

Once I finished, a deathly silence seemed to fall upon the apartment and I gazed at this beautiful young woman wondering what could possibly happen next:  Would she excuse herself to the bathroom and sneak out; or stay and be my friend?

“Okay, Thomas, I want you to promise me something,” said Beth.  “I want you to promise me that you will always find the strength to talk to me about this.”

“What? I mean, you're not put off?” I asked, astounded.

“Nope,” said Beth, smiling.  “You have an illness and why would I be terrified by that?”

“Because I let it rule my life,” I answered.

“So don't.  I don't think you do.”  Beth paused and frowned. “I don't fully understand how you feel, Thomas.  I simply can't because I’m not in your skin and I don't experience it myself.  Obviously there are times when I get a little bit down but that's normal, everybody does. You’re the victim of an illness, and that's not your fault. I mean, do you think that I am to blame for my lack of eyesight?”

“No, of course not,” I declared.

“Then what kind of person would I be if I blamed you for your depression? The thing is, Thomas, I think I might be falling in love with you and if that means that I have to love the depression or at least accept it as part of who you are, then I can never blame you and all I can do is try to be there for you when you need me.”

Tears or relief spilled from my eyes.  This beautiful woman thought she was falling in love with me, she had used that word, a word that I had thought I would never hear from anyone and this beautiful, perfect girl had said it to me. At that moment and for the first time in my adult life I had felt that I belong in this world, that I had a place that was not defined by my depression.  It was a place that included everything else about me.  The very notion that Beth had fallen in love with me when I was well was a validation.  This was confirmation that I was truly lovable.

“So, I’m asking you again, Thomas, can you promise me that you will always let me know how you're feeling,” said Beth. “The illness you've got is not one that leaves any bread crumb clues.  You know, I can’t read your mind.  Maybe you’ve spent so much time hiding from it and hating it away that you have become an expert hider and hater. I can be there for you if I know what you need.  Okay?”

As I made that promise to this woman I had felt that I had been saved.  Now, as I sat with Beth and Jonathan on our park bench, I realized I had been saved only long enough to begin a life together.  The stakes had been raised.  To keep my promise, I would have to do more than just give lip service.

“Thomas, when will you go and see the counselor?” asked Beth patient as always.

I shifted my attention from the dappled sunlight on the cold water and I looked at her.  The memory of my promise burned.

“I will,” I said furtively.  “Soon.”  Beth smiled, relieved.  I believed that seeing a counselor would do absolutely no good but I realized that I could not let Beth down again.

We sat on the bench for another two hours just talking about the mechanics of everyday life, the baby was getting larger I could see that, and his face was grew expressive.  Jonathan developed his own little character and began to stamp his personality on the world.  I understood that so far I had been nothing but the occasional visitor. My son was growing up without a father and even though I felt no affection for him I knew that I had to get myself sorted out so I could function as a father.

At the end of our bench meeting, Beth tucked Jonathan into his stroller and navigated back to Dorothy and Pete’s.  Bailey and I made our way to the empty apartment with only the promise of making an appointment with the counselor weighing me down. Obsessed with my own concerns about whether or not to dial for help, not once did I concern myself that the seeing-eye dog of my legally blind wife was shepherding me instead of her.  Not once did I think, what if she gets lost on her way home or she is stuck somewhere on public transportation, helpless with our infant?  As Bailey and I watched Beth’s bus roll away, an idea sparked within me.  A microscopic synapse connected with another one and another and it occurred to me there was someone else, besides a shrink, I very much needed to see.

CHAPTER TWENTY

My resolve had evaporated.  Now I stood outside
Quexinor
, my guts churning.  I had made another enormous mistake.  I had come here with the idea of speaking to Steve Mitchell, my old boss.  My intention was to ask why he had told my wife his reason for firing me.  Whether his actions were illegal or not, it was a betrayal of my personal privacy that angered me greatly.  I was also suspicious as to why he gave Beth the name of a counselor. He was probably gloating that he had saved
Quexinor
money by firing an ill person rather than deal with the complication of providing individualized support.  I fantasized that the
Americans with Disabilities Act
would serve to get Steve Mitchell fired for having canned a man with depression.  But, I had to let that one go.  I did not want to be categorized as a person with a disability.  I had a condition, a treatable condition, I reminded myself.  Steve’s actions perplexed me.  Although we were never pals, I did not perceive a reason for him to mess with my personal life.  On the other hand he did have to fire me; I had spent hours looking up online pornography when I was being paid to do a job.  But to tell my wife was, in my opinion, a worse breech of professionalism.

Now that I was here, Bailey beside me, I realized I was unable to force myself to go inside
Quexinor
.  My former colleagues would gawk judgmentally.  Perhaps I should just leave.  Perhaps Steve's motivations would remain forever a mystery to me?

“Thomas?” exclaimed a concerned voice. I turned to face my ex-boss approaching the building with three former colleagues.  Steve was not pleased to see me.  He may have spoiled my life but the last thing he would want would be for his employees to know of his disdain for all workers.  I glared back at him and he nodded a little before turning to the three.  “Meet you guys inside in a bit.”

My former boss and I stood there on the street like trigger-happy gun fighters from the old West.  The hesitation in Steve’s face pleased me:  Seeing a man like Steve Mitchell lost for words was a small victory in my powerless life.

“How’ve you been, Thomas?” asked Steve.  To the untrained ear it might sound as though he genuinely felt concern for me.  But I knew he didn’t really care.

“Fine, Steve, I've been fine,” I replied, emotionless.

“Good, good.  So, can I help you with something?” asked Steve.

“Maybe you can answer a question for me, Steve? Why did you tell Beth what happened?

“I was worried about you, Thomas,” replied Steve without having to fish for a reply.  His tone seemed genuine, however I knew what he was like and knew that this was nothing more than his deliberate torture of me.

“No, you weren't, you just wanted to make my life even worse, didn't you?” I exclaimed.  I was not here for an argument, I was here for answers but to hear has lies was too much from me. I wanted him to know the ramifications his actions had caused.  “You didn't have to tell her why you sacked me.”  Silence hung between us.  Regret softened his eyes and he nodded slightly.

“You're right.  I didn't,” said Steve.  “I shouldn't have told her why I had to let you go.  It was unprofessional of me. You may hate me, Thomas, but if you can accept that I did it for what I thought were the right reasons then maybe you will begin to understand?”  He looked at Bailey and smiled a little. “Handsome dog.  I had an English Springer Spaniel a few years ago.  I loved that dog, his name was Jake.  He was a great friend.  Do you mind if I say hello to your dog?”

The idea of this man touching Bailey angered me. Part of me wanted Steve to reach out so that Bailey could bite him or at least snarl. Bailey was a good judge of character and would have nothing to do with an evil individual. To my surprise Bailey wagged his tail as Steve reached forward and then moved his head forward to allow Steve to pet him.  Steve appeared as happy as a young boy petting Bailey's head.

“Can I buy you a coffee, Thomas?  There are some things I feel I need to explain to you.”  To my surprise I found myself accepting his offer.  Steve called his office.

“Hey, something important has come up.  I’ll be an hour late,” he said.  I was something important. 

We walked in silence to the coffee stand near the park.  Bailey and I sat on a bench letting Steve buy the coffees.  Deliberately, I ordered what I knew to be the most expensive coffee on the menu, a pointless revenge that gave me petty satisfaction. After we sipped in silence for a time, Steve explained his position. 

“Did you call that counselor?” he asked mildly.

“No,” I replied sternly.

“Okay, it's up to you, of course, but I would recommend her.”

“Steve, I think the fact that you sent me the name of a psychiatrist was probably more insulting than you telling Beth why I had been fired.”  I wanted him to understand the implications of the boundaries he had crossed.

“I know and believe me, I am sorry, Thomas, I never wanted to interfere,” said Steve.  “You had enough on your mind without me sticking my nose into your private life.  If it's any consolation I didn't do it lightly. I don't want you to think that it was ill intent, Thomas.”  Steve paused, ruminating.  “I was worried about you, that's all, because I know what you're going through, not personally I can never know that, but I do have some knowledge of how you're feeling and how it affects you. If I had been able to keep you on, if I had been able to hide what you had been doing then I would have, but we had an audit and your online activity was seen by people who didn't know you.”

My anger rose again because this reeked of the excuse of a weak leader, blaming a faceless entity for his decision.  I knew I had done wrong but I was attributing the blame to the Shadowed Soul.

“My wife, well, the thing is she--” stammered Steve.  “I don't know how to say this, Thomas, I really don't because I don't want you to think that I'm patronizing you in any way. You are an individual and you have your own illness.  My wife is bi-polar and I know the torture she goes through pretty much all the time.  Even when she's up its torture for us both because we know that this mania will drag her down again. The worst is even when she's happy she may just become manic enough to hurt herself or do something really stupid and it’s relentless, Thomas, it just never, ever seems to stop.”

“Oh, wow, Steve, I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said, not caring.

“I guessed that you’re the victim of something similar,” said Steve.  “I just wanted to try and make sure that your life was okay. I know I can be a difficult as a person.  That's usually when Caroline's condition is particularly bad and I'm not sleeping very well but I'm not a bad person, Thomas.  I hope you can maybe see.  Look, anything you feel I've done to you was not done to hurt you or your family.”

Ashamed at my initial thoughts, it was clear that Steve could be trusted.  It was easy for me to forget that I was not the only one with a Shadowed Soul.  Knowing that Steve Mitchell was largely in the same position that Beth was gave me some idea of what his life must be like.  One of the main features of my condition was that it robbed me of consideration for others. Perpetual self-absorption was my norm.  And even though I was aware of it I seldom had the strength to break away from this never-ending cycle self-pity.  I knew that my wife found me harder than her visual impairment because as with most illnesses it is not only the person who has it that suffers. There had been many times when Beth had needed support from me and I had simply been unable or unwilling to offer it.  It was a hateful part of my personality but one from which I had found no means to escape.  I had never fully considered how this would affect Beth day to day. It was likely she would not be in the best position to communicate with others when I was in the depths of one of my depressions.  No matter how sweet she was in general there were times when she took her tiredness and frustration out on others because she knew that I was not in a position to cope.  When the Shadowed Soul had me in his clutches it did not take much external unbalance to send me spiraling.  So, it followed that Steve Mitchell went through exactly the same processes.  He had a job with a high level of responsibility and if he was getting no respite when he was at home then of course his personality and the way he dealt with people were influenced.

“I didn't know,” I said apologetically, as my perspective stretched.  He smiled sadly and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s not something I wanted people to know.  I love Caroline. I don't want people thinking that she's a freak and unfortunately…”  He glanced at me with a look of infinite sadness.  “Well, you know how cruel people can be.”

“I do,” I concurred.  He was right of course; the term
mental illness
still had a damning stigma.  It still conjured images of raving lunatics with wild hair and staring eyes gibbering in blood-smeared darkness.

“So, when I finally worked out that you were suffering from something similar I just wanted to try and help,” said Steve.  “Not just you but also your family.  I know how difficult it is for you to factor them in.  Caroline has always loved me and I have never doubted that for a second but there are times love gets lost in a fog of negativity.  It seems she hates me. I wanted to help you but I also wanted to help Beth because believe me I know how hard this can be on everyone who gets caught up in it.  The kids included.”

Suddenly, I found myself swamped with emotions for this man, a powerful individual whom I had believed to be a jerk who hated me.  I wanted to reach out and let him know that both his wife and I would be strong enough to get better if not for our own sakes then for our families. However, even talking to Steve reminded me how easy it was to lie to myself about everything; I had never sought help for my condition, not really, not professional help.  Online I had joined a couple of forums that I had never really bothered to track.  I needed to actually receive structured, practical support, but I had always been afraid to ask for help.  I had chosen not to request professional help simply because I did not want anyone to think I was weak, or too stupid to figure out how to help myself.