Page 60 of Salute, To Bravery

Violet

“I ’m okay,” I told myself as I looked in the mirror, my long black hair framing my face. “You need to do this. You need to get some help, and this isn’t accepting defeat–this is accepting a fight. You are strong, and you survived a war. You can survive group therapy.”

I took a deep breath, grabbed my keys, and went out of my small house and to my car. The key went into the ignition, and the car started.

“Good morning, Seattle!” my car radio screamed.

I turned down the volume quickly, plugged my phone into the aux cord, and put on my confidence-boosting playlist. Then, I went to my GPS and put in the location, and I was on my way.

Therapy was a new idea to me, as I’d never been to a session. Since returning from Germany, the memories have plagued my mind, and I can’t even get out of bed without wanting to cry or scream.I needed help.

My dad saw the change in my demeanor ever since I got back. His words echoed in my mind.

“You are different.”

“You have changed.”

It had gotten so bad that he told me to go to group therapy after sending me a link. Now, here I am, driving to my first therapy appointment and hopefully my last. My dad said to just try it and then make my decision, but I am not completely sure about this.

Ring. Ring.

I looked down at my phone, which was charging and sitting on the passenger seat, and saw Luna’s profile photo. I answered immediately while putting on speakerphone.

“Hey, could I call you later? I’m on the way to therapy,” I said to my best friend.

“Finally!” There was a moment of silence, then her voice turned serious. “You’ve been depressed ever since you got back. I’m happy for you. Please, just try. I know you’re scared to face your emotions, but you need to do this. Okay?”

“Okay.” I smiled simply.

“You better call me right after and tell me all about it,” Luna insisted.

“Okay.” I laughed. “You’re starting to sound like your mother.”

“How dare you,” she joked. “Love you. Later, loser.”

She ended the call, and the music continued. The volume was loud enough to drown out my emotions and worries. The music’s numbing effect allowed me to relax.

After about half an hour of stressful traffic, I made it to the place. I took a deep breath.

“You got this,” I said, looking at myself through the rearview mirror.

I shut off the car, grabbed my purse along with my keys, and went inside. The place was gloomy. It felt like a hospital, with pale blue walls and uncomfortable-looking chairs scattered all over the waiting room.

“Hello,” the receptionist said. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here for the Air Force women’s support group,” I whispered.

I was embarrassed. I know I shouldn’t be, but I was. Plenty of my friends had gone to therapy, so why should it be different for me?

“Right down the hall, the second door to the left, they meet once a week, Tuesdays at noon to one.” She handed me a pamphlet. “I hope to see you again.”

I nodded to her. “Thank you.”

I looked at the pamphlet, and then down the hallway.

All of this felt too real; I wish I could drown this emotion with music or express it by playing my guitar.

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

Feeling eyes on me, I looked around the room.

No one was looking at me. Someone else deserves this more than I do.

Shame and guilt swallowed me whole as the thought arose. I can’t help but feel it was true.

I walked down the hallway and entered the room. It was already full of about ten women, but there were two empty chairs, one of which was for Dorthy, the therapist, I assumed. Anxiety filled my every step, and I took a seat in one of the empty chairs.

The room smelled of poorly made coffee. The same pale blue color filled the walls and posters with different diagrams of emotions. I looked down at my hands and saw them shaking ever so slightly. Looking up from my hands, I saw a beautiful redhead walk up to me and smile.

“Hello, I’m Ophelia. We heard we were getting a new person today. On behalf of the group, I want to invite you to lunch with us. It’s on Sarah,” she pointed to the blonde girl, “and you can decide where we go, as long as it’s not too expensive,” she joked.

I stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Why is she so friendly? I was a stranger.

“What’s your name?” Ophelia asked, with a curious look on her round-freckled face.

“Violet, Violet Bride.”

“Oh, we’re doing last names as well.” Her laugh was intoxicating.

“Well, I’m Ophelia Raven, and I would love to add you to the group chat as well.

We have a group chat so we can support each other.

One of us normally has a crisis about once a week.

” She laughs again. “Normally it’s me. Anyway, is it okay? ”

“Sure.” My voice was just a whisper.

I repeated my number to her, and she echoed it back to me.

I looked into her beautiful amber eyes and felt the anxiety wash away. I started to memorize her freckles, her small button nose, and her golden eyes. Just as I had Ophelia’s face memorized, the door opened, and a lady with a clipboard and a tablet came in, and everyone went to their seats.

“Hello everyone, I’m glad to see that we all made it through this week.

I know some of you were expressing some trouble with sleeping, so that’s what we are going to be working through today, but first of all, we’re going to talk about Violet.

Violet is new to the group. I’m not going to ask you to speak because that causes a great deal of anxiety for a lot of people. ”

“Thank God,” I whispered, but it echoed off the walls. Everyone laughed. “Sorry, this is my first time going to therapy, and this is a lot.”

“It is a lot at first; having to face your emotions is hard, and that’s why I prefer group therapy rather than individual therapy. You are similar people from similar situations, and you can support each other.”

“It was hard for me in the beginning,” Ophelia stated.

“I had more nightmares, and honestly, my anxiety had gotten worse. It got a lot better once I started to understand why my brain was acting the way it was. Even a simple movement of the hand used to put me into a panic attack, but I’m a lot better now, thanks to you guys. ”

“Aw, you’re too kind. You did that all yourself, girlfriend,” a lady with short hair like Ophelia said. “Ophelia doesn’t give herself enough credit for how much work she has done. She’s come so far.”

“Still have far to go, though.” She looked at her hands and started to pick at her nails.

“Stop putting yourself down like that, girl, you know better.” That’s when everyone started to pitch in, backing the short-haired girl.

“Oh, I’m Leanne, by the way,” the short-haired girl said. She walked to me and shook my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Violet.”

“You see, here we support each other aggressively.” Dorthy laughed.

‘ I need that ,’ I thought to myself, ‘maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.’

The rest of the therapy session was amazing. I’d never felt this before, being seen. I didn’t even talk as much as the other people, but it was still inspiring. It was inspiring to hear their stories and their mental health struggles. It was freeing in a way.

“Hey, have you decided where we are taking you to lunch?” Ophelia asked me after the session.

“Yes, the Book Store Cafe,” I said. “It has amazing food and has cats and books, and it’s a flower shop, everything you would ever want from a cafe!”

“I’ve never heard of it. Thank God it wasn’t any fast-food restaurant, or I would be on the toilet for the next few days,” she joked.

I just laughed along with everyone else who was listening.

“I love that cafe, it’s my favorite place to work,” a blonde pregnant lady perked up. “I’m Sarah, by the way.” She waddled over and shook my hand as well.

“Violet, a pleasure to meet you, Sarah.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said with a smile.

“What do you do for work?” I asked her, with curiosity soaking every word.

“I am a graphic designer,” she boasted.

“Do you work for a company?”

“Well, I do, but it’s a company that my husband and I built together. He likes the business side of owning a company, and I like the creative side of owning a company, so it works out very nicely.” Her smile was so warm.

“That’s so cool. I run my own business, too; it’s a small business, but it’s still mine. I’m a website developer.”

“Oh my God, I need a new website, and we haven’t found anyone who has shared our same qualities and style, but you seem like the perfect match,” she exclaimed. “Is it okay if I get your number and give it to my husband so he can contact you about your pricing?”

“Of course.” I gave her my number, and we were off to lunch.

I carpooled with Sarah, Ophelia, and Leanne. That was the best decision. Leanne was choosing music, Ophelia was driving, and Sarah and I were in the back. Leanne and I had similar music tastes, and the music was loud enough to drown out the fears about lunch.

After about a half hour’s drive, we reached the Book Store Cafe. It was a brick structure with beautiful gingerbread trimming around the building. It was as if it were out of an old movie.

“Do we go inside and get a table, or do we wait out here?” I asked awkwardly.

“Normally, we go inside and get a table,” Ophelia said as we got out of the vehicle.

As if right on cue, everyone else arrived in a minivan. We all walked in together.

Downstairs was a bookstore with cats, and upstairs was the restaurant. The interior was as beautiful as the exterior, with raw brick everywhere except for one accent wall, which was black. What a lovely contrast to the pastels.

“Hello,” Sarah said to the waitress at the counter.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” she informed us. She clicked on her screen a few times, then looked at the group. “How many?” The poor woman sounded exhausted.

“Eleven, and this will all be on one bill.”

The waitress nodded and took us upstairs and sat us down at a raised table.

“So, tell me about your life and what brought you to this lovely little group of ours,” Ophelia asked after everyone had ordered their drinks.

“Well, I was an orphan and in the foster system until my dad adopted me when I was six,” too much information, “I have been having horrible night terrors and PTSD symptoms ever since I’ve been back from Germany.

My dad is a senior master sergeant, so he understands what I’m going through, which is nice, but he still insisted on me going to therapy, and so did my best friend. So now I’m here.”

Just as I finished telling a little bit of my life, I felt a buzz in my back pocket.I took my phone out and saw that it was Luna texting me.

Hey, when are you going to get back to me? Love ya 3

Hey, sorry, therapy went great, out for lunch. Call ya when I get home.

I quickly placed my phone on silent and into my back pocket. “So, what brought you to therapy?”

“Well, it’s a long story but to put it short, my parents forced me to go after coming back from Japan.” Ophelia seemed taken back and kind of closed off at the thought of all of it. “At least we have that in common, parents who somewhat care about us.” She chuckled, yet her eyes were lowered.

A dull pain started to form in my stomach. I wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but didn’t.

Soon enough, the waitress brought us our drinks and asked what we would like to eat. We all placed our orders. I only asked for fries, which, thankfully, no one noticed. I felt bad that Sarah was paying for all of us; it made me feel insecure in a way.

The conversation flowed so nicely; it was as if we all had been friends for years.

Well, I’m sure some of them had been friends for years, but I didn’t feel left out.

I was an avid participant inthe conversations.

I asked questions and responded. It felt balanced, and I hadn’t found that in a group of strangers in a long time.

Soon enough, everyone was done eating. We were laughing and having a ball when the waitress told us it was time to leave because the restaurant was closing.

“Really?” I asked.

It didn’t feel like we had been there for six hours; it felt like we were there for, like, an hour at the most.

“Yes, it was lovely serving you ladies, but it is time to go,” the waitress said again. “I will ring you up at the front.”

Quickly, we all left a tip, packed up our things, and headed downstairs. Sarah told us to leave her behind because she was walking slowly. But who could blame her? She was eight months pregnant.

We all said our goodbyes and got into the cars. We waited for Sarah to pay as the car started to cool down. The minivan was gone, along with the rest of the girls. Without delay, Sarah came waddling out and sat next to me again.

Instead of listening to music on the way back, we talked about baby names that Sarah and her husband, Nick, thought about naming their baby.

About twenty minutes later, we were at the therapy center. It was crazy how little traffic there was. I got out of the vehicle and said goodnight to everyone.

“Hey,” Ophelia interjected before I could reach my car, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out later this week?”

“Yes! That sounds amazing,” I responded with a big smile on my face.

“Sounds like a plan.”