Beyond the Cave

1

Jeff and his two buddies, Carl and Zee, had spent the last forty-eight hours making their largest batch of crystal meth to date. It was a time to celebrate—the meth was dried, weighed and carefully put into small bags for distribution. They cornered the market on the south side of the city, plus they had a client base of addicts who ran in the affluent crowd that spread into the suburbs. They had money to burn and no choice but to feed their addiction. Easy business.

Since the trio had been injecting meth directly into their veins for the last two days they knew they could unload the latest batch quickly with their high energy and drug induced feelings of euphoria.

Yo, Jeff, when’s Grace getting back here? Let’s get her high and get it on with her at the same time.

Jeff continued working, getting the baggies loaded into larger bags to take on the road, Zee, she quit meth when she found out she was havin’ my baby. She’s off limits, man. You need to find your own bitch, brother.

Zee laughed, I can find a new bitch by tonight. Don’t you worry ‘bout me, man.

Carl and Zee picked up the car keys and the large bag of crystal that was separated for one of the big guys on the other side of town. Carl was once an outspoken and social guy, but he had been doing meth for close to ten years at this point. His teeth were almost completely gone and he weighed at least fifty pounds less than a guy should weigh at his height. Carl didn’t feel like talking anymore, he lived his life to get high on a drug that had taken his soul. Nothing else mattered to him. People and conversations required too much thinking and energy. He rarely spoke, but when he did it was barely audible. His meth friends nicknamed him Mumbly.

Zee had only been using for about a year and Carl often referred to him as still being in his honeymoon phase. Carl knew the damage that meth had done to him and the thought of ever having a normal life again was now an impossibility. He planned on using until he died and he would be okay with death coming at any time.

Zee had connections and the energy to make deals. Carl was the best at manufacturing the drug, but if he rolled up his shirt sleeves it was easy to see he had made mistakes in the ‘lab’ that burned his arms pretty severely, all the way up to his neck. In between the chemical burns, there were track marks from needles and cut marks from razor blades. He cut himself intentionally a few times on really bad trips when he was convinced bugs were crawling underneath his skin and he needed to release them. Carl knew he was a waste of human flesh, but he kept it to himself. The feelings of euphoria he once experienced so long ago were replaced with a state of constant desperation of trying to get back there again. It was hopeless. People around him could see he was an addict, but he was deteriorating on the inside in a way they could never observe.

Zee continued to bitch at Jeff about getting it on with Grace until he could hook up with a desperate girl on his own, "Look, man, we can get any girl hooked on this shit and make her do whatever we want. But I need some action now."

Carl knew it was true. There was a time when he felt like a rock star, getting girls hooked and making them do whatever he wanted. They worked it to get their next fix. And even without teeth and looking emaciated, if Carl had the desire to get laid it was still relatively easy. He knew he just had to find the next generation of girls to take advantage of. He thought tonight might be a good night to make that happen. He’d talk to Zee about it after they collected their pay.

Jeff grabbed his own set of keys and the larger bag containing the smaller bags that he just divvied up by weight. He wanted to get rid of the latest batch, collect his money and start the weekend with some serious partying.

I’ll see you guys in a couple of hours. Let’s make it fast so we can start our weekend. I’ll stop at the liquor store and see you back here.

Right on, dude, Zee said as he walked out the door.

Grace arrived home to find her apartment reeking of chemicals. When she first agreed to letting Jeff cook meth in her apartment she was still using herself, so she thought it would be an easy way to access the drug while giving Jeff a way to make money and help her with the bills. She had no idea how volatile the meth-making process was and she didn’t realize how the combination of chemicals would fill her apartment with the sometimes unbearable stench. Jeff hadn’t shared any of his profits with her and now she was carrying his baby. She knew inhaling the toxic fumes would be particularly bad for her unborn child. She knew how absolutely stupid she had been.

She spent the afternoon talking to a counselor at school and explained parts of her situation without giving away Jeff’s cover. The counselor turned out to be a great resource and was able to connect her with a room to rent and a contact at a woman’s health clinic for the baby. She had already connected her to a therapist specializing in women’s issues and Grace had seen her twice already in the last couple of weeks. She was hoping her therapist might offer her the psychological readiness she needed to get out of her current living situation. She just needed to make her move. She needed to start over and she was ready.

She walked past the make-shift lab and into her bedroom. She pulled a small suitcase out of the closet and assessed what she thought she absolutely had to take with her. She packed a few items of clothing, a couple pairs of shoes and closed the suitcase. Grace would wait until morning to pack her toiletries and make-up so Jeff wouldn’t get suspicious. She knew he’d kill her before he let her walk out on him.

Grace emptied the pockets of her jeans and tossed the contents on the dresser. The business card her counselor gave her for the therapist landed in the pile of change and miscellaneous receipts on its surface. Grace picked it up and read it for the tenth time—Emma Stillwell, Ph.D. There were several other letters after Dr. Stillwell’s name, but Grace didn’t know what they stood for. What she did know was that she really liked her; she wasn’t judgmental and seemed really nice. Grace hadn’t had too much of that in her life and she found comfort in knowing good people were really out there in the world. Dr. Stillwell was the first person she’d ever met to help her believe she could make a change. She put the card back on the dresser, tucked the suitcase in the closet and decided she’d arrange to rent out the room first thing in the morning. Grace was going to change her life.

As she stood in the bedroom and put her hand on her belly, she heard the door of the apartment swing open. Jeff and his cronies were back with money, alcohol and drugs. She knew they were ready to party by the shouts and cheers coming through the door. She shut the bedroom door and sat on the bed. She needed another few minutes alone.

Dudes, Jeff raised his voice at both friends, no one brought the beer in?

Jeff shook his head and walked back out of the apartment to grab the beer.

We’re gonna have fun tonight, man, Zee rubbed his hands together, we made lots of money and now it’s time to party.

Zee pulled out a pipe and a small bag of crystal and put some in the base of the glass bowl and passed it over to Carl who shook his head ‘no’ at the offer, You know that does nothing for me.

Carl walked over to his own set-up that included a spoon and a syringe and began heating up the meth before injecting it into his veins.

Jesus, you guys, don’t wait for me, Jeff walked over and took a hit off Zee’s pipe, Where’s Grace? I just noticed her car outside.

I don’t know, man, Zee smiled as he felt the high come to him. He wasn’t interested in anything else but himself.

Grace! What are you doing in there? Get your ass out here!

Grace rolled her eyes and came out of the bedroom, Hey, you guys already made your run?

She wondered if she was doing a good job hiding her mounting feelings of disgust over the situation.

Jeff brushed some trash off one of the kitchen chairs, sat down and opened a beer, Yeah, we did… get yourself a drink, Gracie. I bought you some vodka and juice.

I don’t think I should be drinking, Jeff.

Ah, one or two drinks isn’t going to hurt you. Settle down, for Christ’s sake.

Jeff got up and made Grace a drink and handed it to her. The alcohol made its way down Grace’s throat and within minutes she was feeling more relaxed. She couldn’t help be on edge, she had no intention of telling Jeff about her move. She didn’t want him to know where she was going. And as far as the baby was concerned, he hadn’t shown any interest in being a part of its life anyway.

Within minutes, Grace’s life looked like it had every day—Jeff was getting high with his friends in a filthy and rancid-smelling apartment while Grace sat disinterested. It still amazed her how much none of this bothered her when she was smoking meth, but now that she was clean, it had become unbearable. She finished her drink and made another one, this time a little bit stronger. She brought her drink to the bathroom.

Hey, Carl, check this out, Zee held up a small bag with powder, let’s have a little fun with Gracie tonight.

Whatever you want to do, man, I’m cool.

Grace drank her second drink and came out to make a third. She decided she’d stop at three. She ignored the commotion the guys were making, made her drink extra-strong and waded through the mess to take a seat on the couch. She looked out the window in the living room that faced the back of another set of apartments, sipped her drink and put it on the table. There was nothing to look at, but she found herself staring out into space. She had a lot to organize in the next day or two. She was relieved to know this was her last night in the apartment.

Zee slid forward from where he was sitting and poured the powder from the small baggie into Grace’s drink. He sat back down without notice and smiled at himself, waiting for the fun to begin.

Grace took another swig from her drink. Then another. Within minutes, she found herself feeling way more tipsy than she normally would have from three drinks. She tried to stand up, but fell back onto the couch. That was the last thing Grace remembered before passing out.

Zee didn’t waste any time taking Grace’s clothes off while she barely kept her head up, Check it out, dudes, we can do whatever we want.

What the fuck did you give her, man? She’s pregnant.

Ah, don’t worry about it, just something from the doctor.

Zee took his pants off while Carl watched. Jeff went in the bedroom to grab something and came back out in a rage. He picked up the glass pipe and took a hit.

What the fuck, man. I just found Grace’s suitcase, packed and ready to go. That bitch was going to leave without telling me. What did she think we were going to do to make our dope? It’s her fucking apartment.

Jeff paced the floor while Carl and Zee had their way with Grace. He couldn’t ignore the rage building up in him over her leaving without a word. Jeff knew since he started meth he had developed a crazed level of anger and he had also become increasingly violent. Tonight was not going to be the first time he was going to beat the crap out of Grace to teach her a lesson. He was actually getting pumped just thinking about doing it. He made his way back to the bedroom to calm himself down when he noticed a business card Grace must’ve left on the dresser. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. He came back into the living room and took another hit.

Let me know when you guys are done over there because it’s time for me to teach Gracie a lesson in loyalty.

2

I spent my whole life trying to crawl out from under this… rock. Well, maybe it’s more like a boulder.

Emma lay on the doctor’s couch and readjusted herself by less than an inch. She wasn’t fidgety, she could just tell she wasn’t exactly centered on the contemporary piece of furniture strategically placed far enough away from the window to alleviate any distractions.

That’s an interesting metaphor, Emma. What do you really mean when you say that? Tell me what you’re really trying to say.

Emma paused and analyzed her thoughts, asking herself several questions over the next thirty seconds. She thought about what she was trying to say, she thought about her skepticism in seeing the psychologist who came highly recommended by a colleague, she thought about how effective her therapy would be… she then moved on to think about whether her dog was getting into anything at home, what she needed from the grocery store later that day and the work she needed to finish up on her own patients’ case notes by Friday.

She tried to refocus and describe to her new doctor in the most genuine and direct way what she meant about crawling out from under a rock… or a boulder. The truth of the matter, in Emma’s mind, was she didn’t believe her trials and tribulations came from her current life experience alone, she was carrying personality traits, karma, debts and promises from past lives and she was aware enough in this lifetime to feel the cumulative effects. Can I tell this to the Ph.D. from Stanford?

Emma balked and wondered in the next thirty seconds if maybe they, she and he, were not a good patient-therapist match. She knew a minute had passed without offering Dr. Peck an answer. But she didn’t feel pressed to offer a hasty response as she stared at the wooden coffered ceiling looming above waiting for the right words to come.

She finally spoke in a measured and monotone voice, "I guess I just don’t understand how people, how your family particularly, can say they love you, but then they don’t do anything that reflects the sentiment... the words mean nothing... the phrase is more compulsory, driven by shared DNA and a common history. I feel like I could have been spectacular, but I was always bound by something…. I was purposefully suppressed and never good enough. The people who supposedly loved me wanted me to amount to nothing. They wanted to see me fail… it would help them feel better about themselves. So I offered you the fairly lame and absolutely inadequate crawling out from under a rock analogy as a place to start. I really don’t know how to describe it, I guess…."

Emma trailed off. She was beginning to feel hopeless and lost in a maelstrom of ineffective words. She wondered if she was capable of describing the weight that remained heavy on her being. She wondered how long she was going to live her life pondering why things couldn’t have been different. She wondered why they kept her under their collective thumbs for the first two decades of her life and if she’d ever really overcome the psychological conditioning of it all.

I think you can work through this, Emma, you’re very bright. You’re successful in your own right as a psychologist and you’ve helped many people because of your experiences. Maybe you needed to experience the challenges you were given to be exactly where you are now. To be the help you are now to others. You have great insight.

Yeah, maybe. I mean, I’m definitely good at what I do because of what I lived through. I really do understand our lives evolve exactly the way they’re supposed to, Emma paused and realized she had to smile despite her immediate frustrations. She had read enough about the Buddha and Eastern religion to understand Dr. Peck’s comment on a deeper level. Exactly where you are is where you’re supposed to be.

It would be impossible for him to assess whether I had great insight or not. Emma decided to keep talking despite feeling mildly dubious of his last observation. She wanted him to be the one—any old therapist was not going to be good enough. She wondered whether he was real or simply full of empty words.

The older I get the more I realize I separated myself from my immediate family to find some peace and clarity, but in the process I voluntarily excommunicated myself from the newer generation of my family, like my nieces and nephews. They may wonder why I’m a ghost to them. They may think I don’t love them. And so now that I see people around me dying, like my brother last year, who left the planet way too young and vibrant—just way too soon—it makes life seem so… finite. The decisions we make have more of an effect than I originally thought. Time passes, we age… hopefully we get to age, I guess, and then we leave. He was the one sibling I could sometimes connect with and now he’s gone. And so I wonder, what the hell was I supposed to learn from this experience with my family in this lifetime? If this is exactly where I’m supposed to be why does it require me to move on without my family? What is life all about, really?

Emma, this is a part of the great mystery. There are a lot of potential explanations that are offered to describe why we find ourselves in both desirable and less-than-desirable experiences and circumstances in our lives. Only you know where you fall spiritually or philosophically attempting to unravel that mystery, if that is indeed what you want to do. I can tell you it’s very personal and any psychologist who tells you they can unravel that mystery for you is full of shit. You know that. So, continue telling me what’s going on in your thoughts today… let’s just start there. It’s still very important you get it out of your system.

"I had no choice but to leave my family behind in order to find myself… my father, my siblings… again, my nieces and nephews that I didn’t see, won’t see, grow up. I don’t know… I talk to other people about their families and they speak about them in a normal tone, with love and kindness… maybe even a little reverence. They enjoy one another. Why did I choose to reincarnate into a family that I didn’t belong in? That didn’t want me?"

There are psychotherapists who can put you under hypnosis and regress you back to past lives in order to help sort out carry-over from one life to the next… or at least provide some explanation for some of these things. It certainly is a possibility. But I do think before you begin exploring those options, you need to sort out more immediate issues first. But it may be a viable approach for you at some point.

Emma lay on the couch and tried to decide whether she was okay not sitting across from Dr. Peck in a chair. Despite their age difference, they were contemporaries, working in the same field, attempting to help people gain insight into their own mental health. Her lying down made her feel immediately subjugated and disconnected. She needed to see his body language, make eye contact and decipher whether he was what she needed most. His credentials may have been stellar, but she didn’t need a clinician, she needed someone with wisdom. She needed someone who really understood the big picture—the compilations and complexities of what it is to be human. She needed someone with deep spiritual insight. She wondered if she needed a guru.

I need to sit up.

Emma, sit up. You never have to lie down.

Emma saw his face. He was kind. His eyes lit up as he smiled. She was glad she sat up. She needed to know the man who may actually help her through her latest round of disillusionment.

If you want to explore the deepest parts of who you are and talk through them, psychotherapy is a great tool to get there. But there are other great tools, too, as you know. Either way, you never have to lie down or do anything you’re not comfortable doing. You know lying down sometimes allows a patient to speak… unencumbered.

Emma paused and thought for a moment. She was a lot of things, but she was never encumbered when it came to communicating how she felt about herself. She simply needed to converse with someone who may have insight she didn’t. She needed to know if she made the right decisions. She needed to be at peace with the choices she made. She needed to make peace with her life.

It just seems like some people are so easy. They’re so kind and I immediately connect with them and others are so difficult… my family has been so difficult. I don’t know why I picked them. When I was younger I used to think I could help them grow spiritually. But that’s a tall order for someone who has no credibility, who has garnered little to no respect.

What makes you think you have no credibility?

Emma offered Dr. Peck a half-hearted laugh indicating the utter absurdity of the question, not because there was a trace of humor involved. She chuckled as if he should have known the answer to her last observation would be complicated and extensive.

The short answer is I have no credibility because my father ingrained a deep level of mistrust into our family culture for me and all of my siblings, but somehow I got the brunt of it. We weren’t taught a lot of appropriate values or healthy means of interacting with one another. It’s really quite sad.

Dr. Peck leaned forward in his chair and gently took Emma’s hands in his own, "Emma, I can help you sort out some of what you’re feeling and what you’ve experienced, but I have a feeling you have all the answers… you simply need to talk through them and clarify things in your mind. When we experience psychological trauma, like your brother dying unexpectedly, it can bring up issues around your own mortality, it’s not the natural order of things. And you had to deal with your family all over again, I’m assuming. You had to deal with them at the funeral and I’m sure going through his personal effects as well. It can bring up old patterns of thinking, communicating and behaving. We regress. They haven’t changed how they see you, right? It’s very powerful and I’m sure you began to feel like that same child again when you talked to them. You took a step back into your past that you spent so much time getting away from in order to heal."

It’s way more complicated and dysfunctional than that, but yes, I had to deal with them all over again. I mean, I haven’t talked to my sister in almost nine years, but she still sends me a Christmas card every year… not signed, just a montage of pictures of her family. Yet she has no interest in talking to me, even though I’ve reached out to her… even though my mother has gently encouraged her to talk to me. I don’t know what I did, but somehow she sends me a card every year and it reminds me just how fucked up everyone is. Either they’re crazy or it’s me. But they make me feel crazy….

She would have normally recoiled at Dr. Peck taking her by the hand, thinking of all the times men had touched her without her permission, but she instinctively knew by his genuineness and calming energy that he was all right. Emma knew she would have to talk about her history with men if Dr. Peck was going to be the one to help her. There was no way around it. Emma had never been to therapy before mainly because she felt no one could help her as much as she could help herself and that had been her mantra since she started her one-woman healing process over twenty years ago.

What do you make of this Christmas card thing, Emma?

"Well, maybe it relieves her guilt, maybe she thinks she comforts herself in creating the illusion that she is somehow remaining connected to me or maybe she wants to remind me of what I’m missing. I don’t know. She’s made it clear that she wants nothing to do with me, but she still sends me those fucking cards. I‘ve learned to really dislike the holidays."

Emma continued, "So the only thing