Breathing For The First Time (9 page)

With each movement of his body the fire inside me smolders. Like rubbing two sticks together, our bodies ignite with the movement. He pushes me to the edge of sanity. My body tightens around him, letting me feel the movement of his erection sliding in and out. His thrusts match mine and he senses I’m losing control. Tyler grabs my hips and slides me up and down as he moves. I throw my head back and cry out his name, squeezing his nipples hard as my body explodes. I hear him groan deeply and feel his thrust deep inside me and the warm fluid rush into me from him.

He keeps his grip on me tight until he stops shuddering. He releases his fingers and I collapse onto his chest, feeling his sweat against my cheek. His arms wrap around my back and his fingers caress my spine.

I feel him shrinking inside me and start to get up. Tyler won’t let me go and pulls me down next to him, turning to face me, our bodies pressed together from head to toe. I bury my face in him and breathe deep, filling my nose with the smell of Tyler, and the love we just made.

I fall asleep in his arms, no longer needing to dream about him, and sleep until morning.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tyler

Brooke has completely changed my life. I know it’s hard to believe when we’re only just beginning, but I’m a whole new person. Everything in life is easier, better, with her around.

We don’t spend the night together during the week, but I’m with her on the weekends. It’s giving me a glimpse of what life will be like one day. We’re still getting to know each other, and every new thing I learn about her makes me fall in love with her even more.

I walk into class and look around the small room. Our program only has sixty students so our classes end up being more discussion of theories and research than lectures. Brooke isn’t here yet so I pick a seat in the second row near the middle. Everyone knows we sit together and stays clear of Brooke’s chair.

She breezes into the classroom just ahead of Dr. Stevenson, our professor. Brooke drops into her seat and gives me a quick kiss before turning her attention to the board.

Dr. Stevenson commands the room simply by clearing her throat. She’s a petite woman with dark hair and striking blue eyes and is always wearing khaki pants and a brightly colored top, her hair piled high on her head and glasses framing her face. She’s very respected and liked by all of us.

She begins the discussion about depression and my body tenses up. I know this is the reason I got into psychology, but it’s always difficult to hear someone talk about depression when they don’t know what’s it’s like firsthand.

Brooke senses my emotions and slips her hand into mine. I turn to look at her and see so much compassion and sympathy that I feel my tension ease slightly. She gives my hand a gentle squeeze, keeping our fingers laced tightly together.

I notice she’s not taking notes, but understand it’s because she’s holding my hand. I nudge her and try to get her to start writing, but she shakes her head and keeps her grip on my hand. My heart dances at the realization that she’d rather support me than worry about her grades.

Dr. Stevenson is talking about the causes of depression and the treatment options. It’s hard to hear about the variety of things my mom has been through in a highly clinical and objective way. I knew I’d have to face it one day, but it’s more difficult than I’d imagined.

My parents don’t talk much about mom’s depression. It’s something she struggles with every day, but she’s strong and wants to fight it. When my sisters and I were younger it was harder for her. My dad always made comments about kids being tough and a part of me thought it was my fault.

Seeing my mom as anything but perfect is hard. She was always there for us growing up. My dad and I were closer, but I know that’s because we were surrounded by women. My mom and sisters are close, always have been, but I always knew I could go to mom if I needed her.

Dr. Stevenson tells us, “Most depressed patients don’t realize what they’re doing. Some people forget their families or just snap at random times. With depression, you never know what is going to happen or when someone will be the person you know or someone else.”

I think back to one of those days. I was in middle school and my sisters were in high school. They had cheerleading practice after school so I came home with a friend from school. Usually mom didn’t care if a friend came with me.

Bo was a neighbor, someone who’d been in our house more times than I could count. When we came through the front door I could tell something wasn’t right. The house was quiet, which wasn’t completely unusual, but something was off. Mom was usually in the kitchen when I got home from school, but not that day.

Bo and I went into the kitchen and found fresh cookies on the counter. We were thrilled and dove into the cookies. After about four each we went to the living room to play video games.

We finished up one game and were starting our next game when mom came downstairs. She was wearing her pajamas and looked like she just got out of bed. Mom started yelling at me, asking me why we ate the cookies, telling me we got crumbs all over the kitchen, and yelling about us being there playing video games.

I was crushed. I felt like she was being unreasonable, but she wouldn’t stop. She kept screaming. She never hit us or got close to us, but we were scared. Bo ran to the door and grabbed his backpack and took off. I just stood there and listened to Mom.

Eventually she stopped yelling and went back upstairs. When she left I cried. I was too old to be crying, but it really bothered me. I was still crying when Dad got home a little while later. I told him what happened with Mom and he went upstairs to her.

After that she went away for a while. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Dad took her to a hospital. It was a short stay, about a week, but she needed to get out, to have a break and let the doctors balance her medication.

I never had a friend over from school after that. In fact I tried to stay out of Mom’s way altogether. I spent most of my time in my room, where she would leave me alone. I would only bring friends over when Dad was around, or my sisters. I did everything I could to make life easy for Mom.

When I was looking at colleges, I decided to help people like Mom. My undergrad classes were informative, but didn’t get into too many details. In grad school, I’ve learned more about what was going on with Mom and it’s been harder to take at times.

I return to the lecture to hear Dr. Stevenson ask, “Do any of you have a particular interest in dealing with patients with depression?”

Brooke squeezes my arm and flashes a reassuring grin at me. I raise my hand and Dr. Stevenson turns her focus to me. “Do you have anyone close to you who suffers from depression? Usually when we pick a particular mission, especially in psychology, we’re working to save a specific person.”

I nod and tell her my mom has as long as I can remember. Dr. Stevenson’s eyes soften and tells me her best friend growing up dealt with the same. She addresses the class when she says, “Watching someone going through boughts of depression can be terrifying and confusing. The person is aware on some level of what’s going on, but can’t control their emotions. Depression is not just emotions, but the emotions they are feeling are amplified when fighting depression.”

She turns her focus back to me, giving me a sympathetic nod. “Chasing after a cause to heal someone who has affected your life can make you crazy. You need to make sure that whatever you are dealing with is not going to influence who you are trying to help. But it can be very rewarding to know you are helping someone else, the same way that you wanted to help your mom.”

Dr. Stevenson smiles at me and continues her lecture. I think about what she said. I’ve always wanted to help people with depression. I’ve always been drawn to this particular piece because of my mom. But will I be able to see patients as individuals instead of as versions of my mom?

After class, Brooke holds my hand tightly, but Dr. Stevenson stops me, asking if we can talk for a minute. Brooke tells me she’ll wait for me outside and I sit down in the front row.

“Tyler, how is your mom doing?” Dr. Stevenson asks.

“Actually she’s doing really well these days. She has found a combination of medicines that work for her and she seems to be pretty balanced.”

“That’s great. I’m glad to hear it.” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Can I ask you a question?”

I nod and meet her eyes.

“Has your mom ever tried to commit suicide?” she asks with a sorrow in her voice.

“No, thankfully she hasn’t. My dad is great and he’s sent her away a few times to get better. I realized watching my dad how important it is for someone to have support and unconditional love when things get bad.”

She nods, looking far away, as if remembering something she wants to forget.

“Did your friend?”

Her eyes snap to mine and fill with tears. “Yes, she did. She tried a few times and eventually she was successful. It was the hardest thing I ever went through. I had already started studying depression, but I wasn’t able to help her. I also wasn’t able to treat her.”

“Is that why you went into teaching?”

She smiles at me, a sad smile tinged with regret, “You’re very insightful. And yes, I knew after watching what Sharon went through that I couldn’t risk losing someone else. I wanted to do research, I wanted to help people, but I decided this is my path.”

“Are you happy with it?”

She laughs at me, saying, “You don’t pull any punches, do you? Yes, I’m happy with it. Helping people requires you to distance yourself from them. If you get emotionally involved and something happens, you’ll never forgive yourself. If you treat them as a patient and care for them, but don’t let them into your heart, you can survive. I knew when Sharon died that everyone would be in my heart. That’s what I worry about with you. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

I shift my weight, slightly uncomfortable talking about something so personal. Dr. Stevenson is trying to help me and it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it, who’s been there. “I never really thought about it. I guess in some ways I think Mom had pretty mild depression, but it was still hard as a kid. I feel like my calling is really to help new parents suffering with depression. Maybe postpartum women or parents with young kids. From what my dad said about Mom’s depression, those were the hardest years.”

“I can imagine. And that’s very noble of you. It’s good to think about who you want to work with now. I know you have another year, but if you know what you want to focus on it will help you to target certain things with some of your elective classes.”

“That’s a great idea, Dr. Stevenson. Thanks. I appreciate the idea. And I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks Tyler. Have a good day.”

I walk out of the classroom thinking about our conversation. It’s refreshing to hear another opinion, but she’s definitely given me something to think about. Brooke is waiting for me, just like she said she would. She falls into step next to me and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. She slips her arm around my waist, her fingers threaded through the belt loops on my shorts. She doesn’t say anything, just lets me think and walks by my side in companionable silence.

Brooke can tell I’m distracted and need to chill out so we end up back at her place. She calls and orders us dinner then hands me a beer. She sits on the couch next to me not speaking for a while.

The silence brings clarity to me. I know that what I told Dr. Stevenson is true; I want to help parents. But I also realize she’s right, and I need to do this for me, not Mom.

Brooke finally asks if I’m okay, a worried look in her eyes. I relay my conversation after class to her and she listens, proving again why she will be a great therapist. When I reveal to her what I want to focus my work on she looks surprised.

“When I was little my mom always said how hard things were with kids. As we got older I know it was easier, but she still felt the world closing in on her at times. My dad was great, but I feel like if she’d had more help with her depression when we were younger that it would have been easier when we were older.”

Brooke nods and listens, trying to understand a life she’s never experienced.

“My mom was great, but there were times when she would get really upset. I want to help moms with young kids, give them tools to help themselves and make sure their medication is right. Even pregnant moms would be cool to work with since there are so few meds they can take. But everyone should be able to have kids.”

Brooke smiles broadly at me, “You’re going to make a great therapist one day. And a great dad. I think it’s amazing what you want to do. It sounds really rewarding.”

I smile, my excitement and her enthusiasm boosting my confidence, “I think it’ll be awesome.”

A knock on the door interrupts our conversation and Brooke jumps up to get our dinner. I follow her, paying for dinner before she has a chance. I carry the bags into her kitchen, pulling plates down from the cabinet. Brooke grabs two more beers from the fridge and we walk back to the couch for dinner.

Brooke turns on the TV and flips to the Food Network, which is quickly becoming our favorite channel. Brooke cleans up the remnants of our dinner then comes back to the couch. She lies down, stretching her feet to the edge of the couch and rests her head in my lap. I brush the hair from her face and stroke her back, enjoying the feel of her close to me.

The night darkens outside the windows and Brooke drifts to sleep on my lap. I don’t really want to be alone tonight and wonder if I can stay with Brooke. I slip out from under her head, replacing my leg with a pillow. I go into her room and pull the sheets back on her side of the bed. I find a t-shirt for her to sleep in and go back to the living room, turning off the TV.

I scoop Brooke up in my arms and she instantly snuggles tight against me. When I get to her bed she stirs, waking slightly. I pull her jeans off and slide her shirt over her head. I flip the clasp on her bra and drop it to the floor. I gaze at her stunning beauty before lifting her body to pull her shirt on.