The Little Suns

** This is a personal experience that defines and describes me growing up**

I sat in the front seat of our maroon Chevy suburban. The shocks didn’t work and the big boat bounced, as we drove to my meeting. Friends asked me earlier that day if I wanted to see a movie I said, “No my family has something weird going on tonight.” I was ashamed to see a shrink. I thought people who saw shrinks were weak minded and needed a ‘mind doctor’ to fix them. Deep down I worried about mental illness or at least instability and I did not want to uncover my instability.

Anxiety developed near the end of my freshman year. The first day of my sophomore year felt horrible and my student ID was a witness, with my grumpy face.

We drove out of town, further than any of us had been before. We turned, no one talked. My sister sat in the back, silent and innocent as my fears increased. I was nervous, so I tricked my mind into relaxing, but it was smarter than me. I looked out the window to distract myself, but it made it worse.

Panic grew in my efforts to calm down. Fear took over like a plague. It griped at my body, starting in my mind. Ferocious, beastlike, with only desires to tear out, and I had no leash. It bit me, and caused me to retreat until I was safe. Safe from people and unwanted attention. The dark became my only escape. This beast didn’t seek me when I was alone and outnumbered. It was the worst kind of monster. Most monsters are afraid of crowds, but this one had no fear. It was greater than fear. It was fear itself, and it hunted me.    

 “Look!” My sister said pointing out the window.

Yellow-gold petals peered at the car as miles of sunflowers faced us. Golden brown fields with hints of green littered the hillside. The sunflowers swayed like a river and for the first time the monster fled. It did have a fear. It was afraid of peace and this field held peace for me. Little suns, captured on green sticks. They lit my soul and warmed my heart, but how long would the feeling last?

The fields would ended and the monster did not return, not immediately.

My nerves calmed as we pulled up to the massive house. Being a shrink paid well, I thought, looking around the high end neighborhood. Maybe I’ll be a shrink someday I thought somewhat joking and somewhat not.

We walked to the door. My mom knocked, because I would not. The door looked expensive and elegant.

I waited in anticipation, picturing her wearing an apron stashed full of surgeon tools. She came and looked normal, too normal. She looked like a simple stay at home mom, but she was still different. She could read minds, at least that was her job and I didn’t want her reading mine.

She indicated for us to enter. The house was decorated well, but was it a ploy, disguising the secrets occurring behind the curtain of normality?

She led us to a little room with an archway instead of a door. I sat and relaxed, but not for long.

“Well Travis, do you have any questions before we begin?” I shrugged. I had too many questions, but I wasn’t going to start asking them.

“Okay well we are going to go to another room and we will start.” She said. This is a waste I thought. I stood, glanced at my mother. She knew what I was thinking and she encouraged me to go by nodding her head.

Hundreds of books were organized on the shelves of the office. How could someone need that many books? She indicated to a big brown chair. I thought I would be lying down. Normally shrinks had brown leather bed couches, the chair reclined though, so maybe it’s the same.

“Travis, I want to teach you a few techniques. They will help you fight anxiety and stop panic attacks. We start by breathing, slow deep rhythmic breaths. This will help calm your body and mind. Once you get the breathing down, I’ll show you how to create a safe place to go in your mind.”

I breathed like instructed, and that was all I focused on. It became my silent isolation and quiet redemption.

She said “Think about the worst panic attack you’ve had. We are going to reconstruct the memory.” She taught me to lie to or trick myself. It must only work when you are breathing correctly, I thought mocking her structure. She was a human programmer. My father was a computer programmer, they do the same thing? Her exercises were odd, but they were working.

Her voice was calming and peaceful. I started to fall asleep, so I stirred and moved. I didn’t want to relax too much. She noticed my movements and told me to relax. She said “don’t forget your breathing techniques even if you are close to sleep.” Did she want me sleep, so she had an easy paid session?

“Now you have the breathing down and we restructured some memories, let’s move on.” She continued. “Find a happy place. What is in that happy place? Don’t tell me just think of it.” I tried and found one “This place needs to be a secret and safe place that no one knows about except for you. Where is it? What does it look like? Think of the colors, the warmth, maybe even the season if it is outside. Let me know when you have it. Take your time.”

I was a painter with a blank canvas and too many ideas. I saw clouds, birds, bees, trees, ants, me, slow down… “Not all at once. I am a painter, painting takes time.” I said to myself. The scene was setting. The crowning piece formed as golden little suns on green stems. The sunflower fields traveled for miles. They swayed while caressing the hills. “I’ve got my place.” I said.

The session lasted an hour, but cost a lot, not just money, but embarrassment. My parents did not tell me the cost, but I knew it was a lot, which made me feel guilty and weak. They had to spend their money because I was weak and scared.

I was grateful that I had a strategy now. I left confident I had the ticket to win now, well at least a plan. I could beat the monster. I just needed to carry those little suns in my minds, in my happy place.

In the car once again we drove back past the sunflowers which were facing away after a long day of chasing the sun. I uttered a loud noise, it came from excitement, but my mother said “That sounded like an Indian,” so the ride home we patted our mouths and pretended to be Indians. Our chant called to my heart “you are normal.” I would make sure to prove my normality.