A Room of Their Own by Rakefet Yarden (best summer reads of all time .TXT) 📕

I loved the softness that had remained in her even after all the blows she’d suffered. She had to cope with everything on her own, lift herself out of the agony, and not just survive, but truly live her life.

More than anything, I realized that the memories resurfacing within me were real, that it really did happen to me. Memories, not dreams or fantasies. Invasive memories that I’d tried to push away with all my might, but couldn’t anymore. Rotem was right. There’s something harsh and painful buried deep inside me that wants to come out. But how can I let it out without falling apart?

Morning, finally. I looked at the phone screen. Ten to eight. I needed to leave for my session with Rotem. I grabbed my bag and Miko’s leash and we headed out. I didn’t want to be pressed for time. I was already awake as it was, so why not walk a bit before the session? I decided to walk to the next bus stop, and then to the one after that, until I ran out of time, so I had to stop and wait for the bus.

I was worried that maybe I’d tell Rotem things I’d later regret having said. I like her, but I don’t feel like I trust her. What’s going to happen when I tell her personal things about myself, painful things, and then find out that she’s actually a let-down? That she’s like all of the other distant therapists who end a session and then totally forget about their patients. Or even worse, that they rummage through their patients’ souls, picking and questioning, and then let them go back out into the world. exposed and wounded. I never understood that. There were girls in the hospital who’d come out of therapy rooms crying, shattered, and utterly unable to face the rest of their day. Looking like wounded animals left to fend for themselves. And the therapists, who were mostly female, would come out of the therapy rooms with a victorious expression on their faces. Self-assured by their wondrous ability to crack this patient or that patient. I never understood why they agreed to let it happen, why those girls agreed for those therapists to pick on them like that − to see their insides.

And here I am, finding myself on the verge of doing just that. There’s a huge tiger in my stomach that wants to come out. I’m keeping it tightly shut in its cage, but it can’t take it any longer. It has to break out, and for some reason, this Rotem Golan is managing to convince me to unlock the cage. She talks about things differently, in a more personal manner, even if she doesn’t say things bluntly. I’m scared that I’ll allow her to get to know me. That she’ll understand who I truly am. But I’m mostly scared of what’ll come out. I’ve been keeping a huge, painful secret for years, without even knowing it. I’m keeping something there that’s hidden even from myself. I know that, and I’m scared of finding out what it is.

Sixth Meeting

A minute before knocking on the door, I stood outside the clinic and tried to catch my breath and steady myself from the dizziness I was experiencing.

“Hi. Good morning. Are you okay?” Rotem opened the door. She must have heard me, or sensed me there.

I lifted my head a bit. Rotem’s a tall woman. My vision was blurred. I walked in with difficulty. I noticed that Rotem was gently holding my hand, a fluttering sort of grip. Kind of hesitant, wanting to support me and hold me up, yet careful about touching me. I wanted to tell her that it’s all right, that I feel comfortable with her. But I didn’t say anything, I just sat down on the armchair carefully.

“What’s happening, Dani?”

“Nothing. Dizziness. It’ll go away soon.”

“Are you eating? Drinking? Do you want me to make you some coffee?”

“No. I’m fine,” I said, dodging her question.

“Are you managing to eat anything during the day?”

“No, not really.”

“When did you last see your doctor?”

I looked up at her, puzzled. Is she for real? Is she genuinely asking me that? There’s no such thing as going to see the doctor with us. Dad’s the best doctor, and we don’t ever go to any other doctor. All of the other doctors don’t know diddly-squat anyway. If we ever do need a specific doctor, then we always go to one of Dad’s friends.

“Why are you surprised? You have a family doctor, don’t you?”

“No. Maybe formally, but I have no idea who he is.”

“Well, then find out. Go see him, and your father doesn’t need to know about it,” she sneaked a little smile, and I felt relieved that she got the gist on her own.

“He’ll find out, and I can’t keep things from him.”

“Why should he find out? How will he find out?”

“He has his ways. You can count on that.”

“Sounds like you’re troubled by him. Like you live your life feeling that he’s constantly watching you and pulling your strings.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of like his puppet. We all are, really.”

She remained silent and gave me that look of hers.

“It’s just a shame that he’s so blind,” I added.

“What doesn’t he see?”

“Me. Everything that’s happening to me, that ever happened to me.” I’d never thought about that, about what I want from him. “I think that deep down I want him to see me, to truly understand me. But on the day-to-day level, and considering the fact that I’m aware of his emotional limitations, I just prefer for him to leave me alone.”

“Do you really prefer to be left alone?”

“Sometimes. Yeah.”

“Would you prefer for me to leave you alone too?”

That question embarrassed me. I’d discovered that I actually liked her, and that I was pretty okay with coming to the clinic. I’d suddenly gotten some peace. Felt less alone. I didn’t tell her any of that, and I didn’t know what to say.