Trauma. Some people call it "The Death of your best self". That's not entirely accurate but given what it does to some people, it's understandable why they think that. My name is Amelia Chance, and I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder when I was 18. I had broken up with my boyfriend in high school, since we were planning to go to different colleges. He tied me up, gagged me and stuffed me in the trunk of his car, obviously drunk and shouting about all the terrible things he was going to do to me. He said he had even called over several of his buddies, saying in explicit detail all the things that he was going to have them all do to me.
I spent the entire time he was driving bawling my eyes out, and fought back as hard as I could when I was dragged out of the trunk and stripped naked. I kept trying to shout out, to beg him to stop and to ask him to just calm down and talk to me but the gag made even begging impossible. Eventually, the friends he had called
did
show up and I tried to get away. All that got me was a kick to the ribs from my ex as the others slowly walked towards me with drunken lust in their eyes. All I could do was shudder in fear, closing my eyes and shaking my head like it would help me wake up from that nightmare. Then a gunshot went off.
His name is Jeffrey Goodman, one of the friends my ex had called, and he threatened to shoot every one of them if they didn't back away from me immediately. My ex tried to call him out, thinking he was bluffing and got a nine millimeter bullet in his leg for his troubles. The others realized that Jeffrey was serious and did as he asked, not wanting any part of the agony that my ex was going through at that moment. Jeffrey helped me get to my feet and walked me over to his car. He had been the designated driver when the rest of my ex's friends had gotten the call, so they weren't able to follow us once he had driven off considering the trouble they were having standing up straight.
Jeffrey used a utility knife in his glove box to help cut me loose. My first question to him was of course was he was going to do with me, tears still stinging my eyes. He responded by telling me that we were going to go to the police and report the others. Of course, I didn't believe him at first but he proved true to his word. He had brought me to the police, made sure I was cared for and told nothing but the truth of that night. A female officer escorted me away while my parents were called and I didn't see or even hear about Jeffrey until years later...
My alarm blared, and I wish I could say it woke me up but I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night. Yesterday had been the 8th anniversary of that terrible night and even the thought of dreaming in my sleep terrified me. I had shut myself off from the world ever since then, gained weight and fallen into a state of depression. I had tried everything I could think of to feel better. Therapy, meditation, yoga and countless other methods but nothing seemed to work. I had given up hope over ever feeling happy and safe again, instead just dragging myself through every day.
If I had to pick a rock bottom, it would probably have been last week. The only job I had managed to keep hold of was as a barista at a small coffee shop. I had practiced a fake smile and managed to keep the job for a while but like everything else in my life it was ruined by my trauma. One of the customers would come in frequently and flirt with me. It was likely harmless, but I just couldn't be comfortable or even fake it. One day, he had grabbed my hand while flirting with me and I just lost it. I had thrown fresh coffee in his face and ran into the background, shaking and bawling until my manager told me to go home for the day.
Unsurprisingly, I lost my job for injuring a customer so now I'm sitting at home, once again afraid to venture outside. This has to stop. I
need
to get control of my life again, I just don't know how. Hopefully, I'll either figure it out or luck into the answer before I run out of money and end up on the streets. For now though, I needed to will myself to get out of bed and try and find a way to stay awake enough to look for the answer.
I groggily push my covers off of myself and zombie-shuffle my way to the kitchen for a few cups of coffee. I may take a nap later, but not until I have no choice but to pass out and confront the nightmares again. Unfortunately, just thinking about the nightmares makes the memory that causes them run through my head and I nearly collapse. I don't want to think about it anymore, but I know that's not going to happen. I've been trying to forget the fear and the pain for years with no success. I also can't forget the one regret I've had...Jeffrey.
I was able to tell the police some of what had happened, and Jeffrey was very honest the night he had brought me to the station. His words and mine got my ex and his bastard friends all arrested, but the bastards all got to say their piece too. As a result, Jeffrey had been criminally charged for using the gun he had used to rescue me since it wasn't actually his. It had been unfair but there wasn't anything I could do. He probably wished he never helped me, at least that's what I figured when I saw his disappointed face when he was sentenced. I lost track of him after that, mostly out of wanting to avoid anyone and anything that could remind me of that night.
Fate seemed to have other ideas though, as I sat and drank my first cup of coffee. A newspaper was delivered to me by a friendly neighbor lady of mine who often brings me my mail as a favor, and who else do I find in an article but Jeffrey Goodman. Apparently he had done well for himself, despite having a criminal record, since the article mentioned some breakthrough new trauma treatment he had apparently invented. That new treatment was the only thing that kept me reading, instead of closing the paper and trying to fight back the memories again. The memories were assaulting me right now, but I kept reading. I needed hope, and god damn if I wasn't going to brave
something
to get it.
The article had his name and the name of his office. I grabbed my phone off of the counter, unplugging it from the charger and started an internet search for an address. There probably wasn't any way that Jeffrey was going to help me but I had to at least
try
. It was a surprisingly simple matter to find his office and the phone number to it, so I dialed the number and waited. The phone rang about 5 times before somebody answered.
"Goodman Psychiatric. This is Christina, may I ask who is calling?" the girl on the other end of the line spoke to me.
"Um..." I begin nervously, "My name is...is Amelia Chance. I saw about Jeffrey..I mean Mister Goodman's new treatment in the paper and wanted to know if I could possibly make an appointment?" I started chewing my nails as I waited for her answer.
"I'm afraid that treatment isn't really available to the general public as of right now ma'am. I could schedule you in for regular therapy if you would like. Can I get a phone number to reach you at?" she asked me. I knew there wasn't any point in trying to bargain with her. For now, I'd just need to get in touch with Jeffrey and ask him personally if he could try it on me.
"My phone number is 659-7723. I have the same area code as your office, but when you tell him that I called could you do me a favor?" I asked, twirling my hair nervously. "When you tell him that Amelia Chance called, could you mention I'm the Amelia Chance who sat next to him in Mister Mahwinney's trigonometry class in high school?"
"An old high school friend, huh? You know, if you were just hoping to catch up with him I could just let him know you called. We don't necessarily need to make a therapy appointment." she replied sweetly to me. Her tone and attitude actually manage to bring a small smile to my face as I take a moment to think before I answer her.
"Sure. That might be for the best. Thank you for your help." I reply.
"Not a problem. I'll let him know right away and he'll give you a call back when he can. Have a good day, ma'am." She says before hanging up. I look at my phone, unsure of whether or not I would actually receive a call back from him. I didn't have anything else to hope for though, so I decided that I'd wait for the rest of the day. If I didn't hear back from him, then I'd give up and try to find something else. My eyes wandered back to the newspaper with his picture on it and I gave it a closer look. He had slimmed down a bit from high school, but still had those piercing blue eyes that she remembered. Those eyes had honestly scared me a little in high school, made me feel like he was looking right into my very soul every time we made eye contact.
