“Why did you stop writing?”
Brooke sat slouched over with her elbows on her knees and face in the palm of her hands. She said nothing, but shrugged her shoulders.
“I can’t help you if you are not willing to talk. What happened?”
“Stuff, lots of stuff, my world seemed to just fold one storyline after another until I had no story left.”
“Your writing just stopped?”
“No, my world. I was someone. I used to write. I used to have an opinion, and people used to read my writing. It was like I was on a roll at a blackjack table and then it just stopped. I used to feel like something big was going to happen, something really great, but then I realized it wasn’t. That is when my life started falling to shit.”
“So, your writing stopped and your life fell to shit. Is that what you are saying?”
“No, my life fell to shit and my writing stopped.”
“Ok, then why do you think this happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Ok, maybe but I don’t want to say it. If I say it you will think I am nuts.” She inhales a big breath and slowly exhales like she was practicing yoga or Lamaze. “The suicide…” She inhales another big breath and exhales. “ When she took her life, it was like she stole mine too or at least my happiness.”
“Who? Who is she? Who took who’s life?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tears rolled down her eyes.
“Brooke, we have been meeting once a week for over a year, and I don’t know what you are talking about. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I know. I know, but this is real and it hurts. It still hurts just like it did the day it happened. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to live a happy life and I have done pretty ok. I mean people think I am happy. I do feel happy at times, but deep down she is always there. The sad part is I can only remember her dead body, the bad times, the sad times and very few good times. I just want it all to go away.”
“This is why you should write. You need to write about this. This story is real and people like you can get comfort knowing about what you are going through.”
“Yeah, that is what I thought too. Then literary agent after agent rejected me. I got to the point where I was numb. All The literary agents want from me is to write humor, but it takes every ounce of strength to find the energy to be happy. I am too tired trying to be happy that I can’t. You know what I am?”
The therapist shook his head.
“I am sad. I am fucking sad. I cry myself to sleep almost every night and that has been for ten years, 3,650 day and I don’t want to be sad anymore. The worst part is that being sad in today’s society is just not ok. It is no longer accepted. No one wants to see the tears, hear the cries or talk about the bad in life. I just can’t be fake. I am me and right now that is a sad person. I just want to
