Dear Chapter 18

Song for this chapter// Dear by Mad Soul Child

Jung SoMi~

An incessant weakness bothered me from my work. I stopped typing on the keyboard and looked down at my hurting wrist. Blinking rapidly, my hand cradled my sore wrist as I recalled my own malicious actions towards myself. Forcing my eyes shut and shaking my head vehemently, I threw the thoughts off my mind and returned to work. I wasn’t even aware of the time as I delved into my work, reading the files and typing up the reports. My ear buds blocked out the tapping of the keyboard as I worked at my desk just like how my coworkers were doing too. As soon as work was done, I swiftly left the building and waited for the next bus at the bus stop. I raised the volume of my music as I rested my head on the window with my ear buds in to drown out my thoughts. The city lights faded away as the bus entered my quiet neighborhood.

To my surprise, SooHyun was in the kitchen with a smock covering her and actually cooking. With a brief greeting, I went to my room and changed into my dark sweatpants, which were sullied with dust and lint. Too exhausted to even care, I put it on and went to where SooHyun stood by the stove.

“Wow. It’s really good.” I lied, wanting to encourage her rather than put her down. Honestly, it was too salty and I didn’t have an appetite, but I pretended to enjoy the meal and asked for a second serving. While eating, SooHyun accidently hit my wrist and I couldn’t mask the jolting pain the impact caused.

“Sorry! Are you okay?” SooHyun asked, rubbing my sore wrist. I sighed in relief towards myself at the fact that there was no indication of my self-harming. My wrist appeared perfectly normal, except for its soreness that only I could feel. I washed the dishes and watched TV with SooHyun. On the couch, I listened to SooHyun vent about how frustrated she was about not knowing what direction to go in with her life. She even questioned why she got a degree in psychology. I didn’t mind listening to her, for the attention was on her and not me. However empathizing with her actually drained me even more. Right now I simply didn’t have the emotional capacity to bear her burdens. I didn’t even have the emotional capacity to bear my own burdens as I was avoiding TaeSik and dreading my next EMDR session with Dr. Lee.

What was I doing? I knew that overeating on an empty stomach wouldn’t have great results. My body was bent over the toilet, throwing up the contents of SooHyun’s salty fried rice. Leaning against the ice-cold tiles of the bathroom, I shook my head until I began to actually hit my head against the wall. It was the ultimate regression. My head banging was the reason why I kept moving from foster home to foster home. My insensitive guardians were rather appalled by my behavior and had me transferred out. A bitter chuckle left my dry lips at the recollection.

For some reason, this was the only way I knew on how to manage the emotions that would crash over me. Was this method deranged? My friends would vent to me and say how better they felt after talking about it but I couldn’t. I guess it felt a bit better when I talked to Dr. Lee, but even then I refrained from revealing everything. I couldn’t trust others. I only trusted TaeSik and myself, however how could I disclose to him what a ing mess I was?

Weeks passed by and I participated in my daily routine lethargically until I read my planner, which indicated that I had my eighth EMDR session today. My muscles tensed even more as I forced them to relax. The plush leather seat was the most uncomfortable that night as I sat with my eyes closed, remembering the time in the ants’ nest.

The session was halted when Dr. Lee noticed my discomfort. She soothingly explained to me that it was going to be difficult and that it could take years for my complex PTSS to be resolved, but to not lose hope. Dr. Lee described my sense of self as a knotted ball with countless knots that I would have to unravel. Each knot meant something different. Some knots would require more time and energy than others. The traumatic experiences from my kidnapping were more easily unraveled, but now the knot of my childhood seemed too arduous of a challenge to even attempt.

Which string do I tug on first? Even the question was daunting. My mom’s drug use and her neglect? My loneliness? My desperate need for love? My desperate wants for affection, which I temporarily