by Emily Ford
***
“Rose White? The doctor will see you now.”
Rose sets the magazine down on the small coffee table and picks up her handbag. She only had to wait a few minutes after filling out paperwork to see the Psychiatrist. She thanks the receptionist as she passes by the desk. Apprehensive about the appointment, she knows she needs the help. Her fears have nearly turned unmanageable.
“Come in, Rose,” Dr. Vance says warmly. Dressed in a light brown suit and red tie, the doctor pushes up the silver rimmed glasses that have partially slid down the bridge of his nose while reading her paperwork. He has a kind face and a warmth emanates from his pale blue eyes. His silvering hair and wrinkling skin remind Rose of her grandfather.
“Hello,” she greets him. She sits at the plush leather chair in front of his desk.
“Are you comfortable sitting there, or would you prefer to sit on the lounge chair?” he points to the chair in the corner of the office.
“No, I’m fine here, thank you.”
He picks through her file once more and then removes his glasses, setting them on his desk. “Well then. What brings you here today, Rose?”
“Well, I guess I just need to talk about something. I’m new in town. I’m pretty much alone, so I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
Dr. Vance nods. “And what brings you to New Orleans?”
She hesitates and looks away from him. “I left my husband.”
“I see. Is this a temporary separation?”
“Oh no,” she says, snapping her eyes back up at him. “No, I’ll never go back to him. Ever.”
“Okay. That’s okay. Please continue.”
Rose’s hands are clasped in her lap but she squeezes and twists her fingers and thumbs, while bouncing her right foot on the floor. “Well, the problem is … and I told the Detective this … I think he might come after me.”
“Your husband? Why do you think that?”
“Because of the kind of man he is. The way I left … in the middle of the day, without telling him … would be like a slap in the face to a man like him. That, and he always told me he’d kill me if I ever left him, and now, here I am.”
“So you’re concerned that he will live up to his threats?”
“Yes. That’s my biggest fear. And seeing him again – I just don’t ever want to see his face again. Or hear his voice.”
“Did he physically abuse you?”
“No. But he bullied me, and threatened me, all the time. He had a bad temper and when he lost it, he would just destroy me with the ugliest, meanest words. He treated me more like a slave than a wife. He treated me like I was dirt under his shoe.”
Dr. Vance nods. “I see. That must have been a very difficult time for you. How long were you with him?”
“Eight years.”
He raises his eyes. “That’s a long time to be in a relationship with domestic abuse, Rose.”
“That’s domestic abuse? What I just told you?”
“Yes, of course it is. You see, a person doesn’t have to be hitting you in the face to be abusive. Sometimes the emotional and verbal abuse can be much worse than the physical kind.”
“The problem now is, he told me he’d kill me if I left him so often, that I believed him. And I believe him now, and I just think he’s going to come after me… and try to kill me.”
“It’s understandable that you feel this way. Sometimes threats like those can be a method of controlling you. Perhaps that was his way of manipulating you to stay in the relationship.”
“I don’t even know why he really cared, I mean… he had several affairs while we were together. I tried to leave when I found out about them, but he told me he’d kill himself if I did, or he’d kill me or my family. But why would he want me around so bad if he wanted to sleep with other women?”
The doctor pauses thoughtfully. “To some men, having an extramarital affair has nothing to do with their wife, and everything to do with feeding an ego, or perhaps he had an addiction.”
Rose sighs. “Doctor, I don’t know what to do. I feel so on edge. I’m always looking over my shoulder for him. I’m suspicious of everyone I meet. You see,” she pauses, then lowers her voice to a whisper, “he’s kind of involved with the mafia.”
“Oh goodness,” Dr. Vance comments. “Do you feel that increases the chances that he will act out his threats on you?”
“Yes. A thousand times yes. That’s why I can’t relax. I worry constantly, I can’t sleep at night because I think he’s going to come crashing through a window to kill me. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Do you have family anywhere? Friends?”
“No friends. I have family but they’re scattered around the country. Some I haven’t seen since I was very young. I’ve been really isolated from everyone. He liked to keep me isolated and I lost touch with just about everyone.” She watches him scribble down notes in her file. “Doctor, sometimes I feel like I’m going insane. Or that I’m being paranoid. I’m not crazy, am I?”
“I don’t believe you’re crazy, Rose. But many times our fears and just that. Just fears. Not really based in reality, but they come from our imagination.”
“But I’m not imagining things.”
“You may not have imagined the emotional and verbal abuse you’ve suffered. But the fears that your husband is going to jump out and grab you, or crash through your window while you’re sleeping at night, those fears come from your imagination and are probably not realistic.”
“They feel real. Does that mean I’m being paranoid?”
“Not at all. It’s your mind’s way of working through things. I can prescribe you some medication to help you relax. Have you talked with the police about your concerns?”
“Yes. Actually, Detective Jenkins referred me to you. He said you help people like me.”
“Yes I do. What did the Detective tell you to do?”
“He said there’s nothing he can really do unless my husband actually comes after me.”
“I see. Well, I think I can help you by prescribing you something that might help quell some of your anxiety. In the meantime, why don’t we schedule you to start coming in, so we can start working through this. How does that sound?”
“I would like that,” Rose says, still anxious but feeling a sliver of hope.
