CHAPTER FOUR
It Still Hurts. . . . I’m Still Bleeding Brianne, aka Dr. Binet . . .
Jenna reminds me of myself when I was her age. Being nine years her senior, I’ve seen, experienced, and dealt with some of the same demons that are tormenting her. So much so that after dealing with those dark moments and places in my life, I fell in love with the process designed solely to decrease misery and improve one’s life. As a result of my newfound love, I became a therapist. It was a long journey down the road to recovery, but I made it safely.
It took a very long time for me to get to where I am as a therapist. When I reflect on the early days of my “training,” I realize that a seed was planted in those moments when my family and friends confided in me when they were dealing with a crisis. Hearing their pain hurt me, but I took it as an honor to be the person they turned to in their vulnerable moments. In the early days of my internship as a rape crisis counselor for survivors of domestic violence, I found myself drawn to complex trauma and developed a more profound love for my role as a therapist. Although the work was deeply challenging, I found it incredibly rewarding.
There’s an old saying that resonates with me because it encapsulates my life story. “No matter what side you’re on, you will never be able to explain how it feels to be in that position.” Point being, the dark places inside me push me to pour understanding and care into these girl’s lives, I know what being alone is like.
In their eyes, I am a godsend. In return, when it’s all said and done, I yearn for that same comfort and solace I provide them. I assumed me not being intimate or having someone in my life was stirring up these feelings. However, even being with and connecting with Jenna, I still feel lonely and alone, like something is missing or wrong. Like I am desperately seeking something that provides comfort, that fills a void. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy us, but on the inside, something is missing for me, and because of it, she and I have been clashing lately.
From the onset of my practice, I have felt energized just from working with clients. Nothing, whether it is good, bad, or indifferent, can alter those feelings. The reward of witnessing a person accomplish goals and make progress in life alone is what I think of as the ultimate satisfaction. It has been especially satisfying to see how far Candice and the girls have come. Especially Candice. One can barely imagine the things she has endured and overcome. And to think that I took part in helping her get to this point of self-sufficiency . . . That alone gives me a level of fulfillment that is tremendous.
But working at New Beginnings and remaining the girls’ therapist poses a conflict of interest. The crux of the matter is that I believe my attachment to them has begun to muddle things for me. On the one hand, I have operated as a professional in assisting the girls with overcoming the traumatic events that took place in their lives. On the other hand, in the back of my mind, I have been envisioned myself assisting them in brutally punishing their abusers. This has come out of nowhere. I have never before found myself second-guessing myself or contemplating anything of the sort. As a result, I have recently sought out therapy for myself, and so I have found myself sitting on the proverbial couch from time to time.
Because I don’t want any of this to show up in my paperwork, and I certainly do not want my colleagues or, God forbid, my clients to catch wind of this, I first connected with a family friend of a friend who practices as a therapist in New York. Well, I didn’t feel comfortable with her, so I moved on to a second therapist. She accepts only cash payments. In any event, right now, I need a clear mind: I cannot allow anything to cloud my judgment and disrupt any of my clients’ progress. Especially since the New Beginnings grand opening is in a few days. I will be taking on new vulnerable clients, and they will need me at my best and on my A game.
Speaking of my new therapist, Dr. Felita Ness, I am in the reception area of her office, waiting to meet with her now.
“Ms. Binet, Dr. Ness will see you now,” Claudia, the receptionist, informs me, extracting me from my thoughts.
“Thank you, Claudia.”
“No problem. Right this way,” she says, directing me to Dr. Ness’s office.
Every time I enter Dr. Ness’s elegant yet soulful office, which features a full wall of windows, I am reminded of the upgrade that my home office is in desperate need of.
With a warm, comforting smile, Dr. Ness says, “Good to see you again, Brianne. Please have a seat. How are you doing today?”
“All is well. And you?” I reply as I take a seat on a comfortable armchair.
“I am great. I think we should pick up where we left off on Monday. How do you feel about that?”
“That sounds great. Thank you again for doing this for me.”
“No problem at all—” she says and cuts herself off, looking at her notes. “Speaking of our last session, from your viewpoint, what went wrong with your meeting with Dr. Kruk, the first therapist you saw?”
“Honestly, I am not here to talk about that. Right now, I am struggling to separate my personal feelings from my professional feelings, and that’s what I really need to discuss. It pains me to hear the abuse that my clients have endured.”
“We will discuss that in depth. But right now we need to get to the root of the problem. That’s why I have brought up Dr. Kruk.”
I shrug. “You and I both know Dr. Kruk could never take me serious,” I respond automatically.
“Please elaborate as to why you feel this way, Brianne.”
“For one, I am a woman, and a therapist at that. I know from my own experiences in life that men won’t hear or listen to me in a profound way. You and I both know that men don’t listen deeply, especially ones with authority. And that goes for male therapists. A male therapist would use his platform only to minimize and trivialize my concerns and pain. All based on the simple notion that I am a woman. He’d generally be dismissive with me because I am a woman and because he is threatened that I wear the same hat as he does. So that alone means two strikes against me.”
“At what point during your session with Dr. Kruk did you feel he was minimizing and trivializing your concerns?”
“He didn’t get a chance to. Due to my own negligence, I learned Dr. Kruk was a male while I was seated in his reception area. I failed to do my homework on him prior to going to his office. At this point in my life, I refuse to allow a man to mistreat me. Especially in the vulnerable state that I am finding myself in these days. So I canceled the appointment while there, in his office. Now I am here with you.”
“Do you feel all men act this way, or do you expect this from just Dr. Kruk and other male therapists?”
“No offense, Dr. Ness, but let’s cut to the chase. You and I both know how this works, so how about we omit the probing questions and we get straight to the point?”
The brooding expression in her dark eyes spoke for her, and she said nothing. She didn’t have to. I continued to speak and clarify things.
“I was married for three years. Shortly after two years of being married, the man I vowed to spend the rest of my life with left for work and never returned. A perfect stranger came into our home that evening. To make matters worse, he wasn’t alone.” I pause as I begin reliving the most horrific time of my life. Tears threaten to fall.
“Take your time,” Dr. Ness suggests, handing me a tissue.
Nodding my head, I continue. “The day my marriage ended was the first time in my life that I’ve ever felt so dirty. It was as if I were a piece of nothing and had transformed into my husband’s mistress. Going into the marriage, I dealt with the chronic criticism and even overlooked his controlling tendencies. Never in a million years could I have unraveled the fact that my growing business, which caused me to have less time or energy for him, would turn him into a monster and a pimp.”
“Would you like—”
“Dr. Ness, please allow me to get this off my chest. I haven’t talked about this in so long, I didn’t know it was still a soft spot for me. Usually, with my clients, when I see they are having a breakthrough, I allow them to unload without interrupting them.”
After turning her hand, folding her fingers in toward her palm, Dr. Ness pointed her thumb skyward.
Shaking my head, I say, “Did you really just give me a thumbs-up? How professional is that?”
“It is clear you refuse to allow me or anyone else to do their job. It doesn’t matter if the therapist is male or female. The fact is that Dr. Binet has to remain in control. Let me let you in on a secret. For this to work, you have to allow me to do things the way I do things. I am fully aware you have your practice. However, you are human, and you cannot continuously hold on to your skeletons from the past. It will spill over into your work. You need these sessions more than you think, and I perceived that within fifteen minutes of listening to you. So, my question for you is, Is this therapy session really what you want to do, because the last thing I want to do is waste your time or mine?”
“You’re right. I haven’t been on the other side of the room in so long, I got caught up. Please forgive my arrogance.”
“As you stated, you were having a breakthrough. Do you mind discussing the things that transpired the day you feel your relationship with your ex-husband dissolved?”
“It has been a nightmare that has replayed in the back of my mind for twelve years. I married at the wrong time in my life, but I was needy back then. My only saving grace has been my practice. Without it, I would have probably lost myself in a deep depression.” I exhale before continuing. “Mason came home extremely late that evening. Which just so happened to be my thirtieth birthday.” I close my eyes, allowing myself to revert to that exact moment in time.
“Happy Birthday, Bri-Bri,” he exclaimed, toting a dozen birthday balloons, a dozen red roses, as well as an adult-size gift box.
“Oh, my goodness, Mason. What have you done? What is it?” I said, glowing.
“It’s my surprise. Why don’t you go upstairs and put something sexy on for me?”
Taking two steps at I time, I dashed upstairs and into our bedroom and pulled out a red negligee and paired it with matching red heels. With my heart racing a mile a minute from excitement, I anxiously disrobed, took a quick shower, and slid into my sexy ensemble.
I’d been home all day, having my own pity party, thinking he’d forgotten about my birthday, and look what he had done. It had been so long since I had been this happy, since he’d called me sexy. Better yet, it had been a long time since he wanted to see me in something sexy. A little over a year, to be exact. For so long we’d gone about our everyday lives as if we were roommates instead of husband and wife.
“Bri, what are you doing up there?” he called up the stairs.
“I’m here, my love,” I said, and then I sashayed down the stairs. I stopped in my tracks when I reached the last step.
“This is my surprise, hon. You remember Chuck? I decided to unwrap him for you myself since you were taking so long.”
I open my eyes and snap out of my flashback. “I hate him so much.” .
“Would you like a moment, Brianne?”
“No. I am so upset with myself.” I take in the room around me. “I apologize, Dr. Ness. I will try to calm down. I am just so upset with myself. I cannot believe I am still harboring this anger. I probably will never get over this. How can I? The man that vowed to love me up until I was on my deathbed and then beyond that took turns with his best friend in insulting and raping me for hours. Happy thirtieth birthday to me, right? That was also the last day that I laid eyes on Mason. And to add insult to injury, I was impregnated by one or both of them that evening.”
“A baby? You never mentioned you have a child.”
“Ha-had a child.” I sniffle. “Sienna was three months when she . . . when I . . .” I burst into tears. “My therapist at the time said it was postpartum depression combined with depression brought on possibly from giving birth to my rapist’s child. I-It was one of the hottest and most humid days of the season. I couldn’t get any of it out of my mind. I didn’t think having a drink with my medication would alter my thinking. I never meant to leave Sienna in the car. I went to bed to sleep it off. I thought I had put her to bed, Dr. Ness. I didn’t intentionally leave her out there to die. You have to believe me. I would never hurt my baby. You have to believe me.” I sob uncontrollably.
“I will allow you time to gather yourself before we go on.”
“I-It’s fine. I’ve been here before. My heart is just still broken.”
“In my professional opinion, Brianne, this is more than just a broken heart. You may require extensive therapy, and you are not in any condition to counsel anyone right now. I am not saying you should stop indefinitely. Right now, I believe you first need time to deal with these things that are still dealing with you. You cannot help anyone until you help yourself.”
“You’re wrong. My practice has been my saving grace. I knew this was a mistake. No wonder you’re taking cash under the table from clients. You don’t have a clue as to what you’re doing.” I quickly rise from the armchair and storm out of the office.