Read Online Always Watching by Chevy Stevens - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chevy Stevens
Tags: Fiction
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about ways you can take care of yourself when you’re feeling depressed. What were some things that helped in the past? Like exercise, or a favorite movie or book?”
She shrugged, scratched at her bandages. “I used to do yoga.”
“So maybe that’s something you can try again. We have group sessions a couple of times a week.”
She looked lost in thought. “That’s how it started. I met a woman at my yoga class, and she told me about this meditation retreat she was going to at the center. She said she had gone before, and it was the best experience of her life.” Her voice turned mournful. “I just wanted to be happy, too, but look at me now.” She slumped in her chair, her earlier glimmer of energy snuffed out. “What’s the point of even talking about this? It won’t change anything.”
My head filled with questions about the center. What happened during the retreats? How many members lived there? But I couldn’t ask—this wasn’t about me. I shoved everything to the side.
“We can show you how to stop your thoughts when they start spiraling down, like if you suddenly feel depressed, try to remember what you were just thinking. Once you identify the trigger, you can replace it with an alternative, more positive thought. Would you like to try some together?”
She stared at her knees. “They said they could help me too. When I went to that first retreat, I did feel happier. Everyone was so nice—they complimented me and made me feel special. And they listened to everything I said, like my opinion actually mattered.”
What Heather was saying sounded like “love-bombing,” which was something various groups and even salespeople did. They give you what they think you’re missing, encouragement, compliments, validation, to make you feel good about yourself, which in turn makes you feel good about them. I thought back to the commune, remembering that Aaron would ask us to be extra nice to new members and show them how happy we were living at the commune.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate myself for leaving. Why didn’t I just stay there?”
I waited to see if she’d answer the question for herself, but she was just staring at her feet now.
“You didn’t want anyone else to raise your child, which is perfectly understandable,” I said. “Have you been having more troubling thoughts?”
She nodded and wiped her nose on her arm. “I don’t want to tell Daniel about them.” She took a shuddering breath. “He’s always worrying about me.”
“We won’t tell Daniel anything you don’t want us to. But you can talk to me. Is there anything you’d like to share?”
Her face grew sad. “We did sharing exercises at the retreats. Daniel and I were partners the second weekend I was there—that’s how we met. Aaron matched us. He said our energy was really strong together.”
“What kind of exercises?”
“We had to confess things.” She shifted her weight, tugged at the bandage on her wrist like it was suddenly too tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
My chest had also tightened at the word “confess.” I wanted to ask Heather more about these exercises, to see if they were like the confession ceremony I had participated in or something even worse. Maybe there was a clue there as to my memory loss. I hesitated. It wouldn’t be right to push Heather before she was ready—but she was the only person who could help fill in the blanks. I was still thinking about what to do when she continued on her own.
“They said they could help me, that all my problems were in my head.” Sounding wistful now, Heather said, “So after a couple of weeks, I sold everything I owned, moved to River of Life, and started helping in the store.” I wondered what kind of store they had and whether it was at the commune.
“I wanted to be good at something.” Heather paused, thinking. “Before Daniel came to the retreat, he’d been in Haiti, helping after the earthquake, and before
She shrugged, scratched at her bandages. “I used to do yoga.”
“So maybe that’s something you can try again. We have group sessions a couple of times a week.”
She looked lost in thought. “That’s how it started. I met a woman at my yoga class, and she told me about this meditation retreat she was going to at the center. She said she had gone before, and it was the best experience of her life.” Her voice turned mournful. “I just wanted to be happy, too, but look at me now.” She slumped in her chair, her earlier glimmer of energy snuffed out. “What’s the point of even talking about this? It won’t change anything.”
My head filled with questions about the center. What happened during the retreats? How many members lived there? But I couldn’t ask—this wasn’t about me. I shoved everything to the side.
“We can show you how to stop your thoughts when they start spiraling down, like if you suddenly feel depressed, try to remember what you were just thinking. Once you identify the trigger, you can replace it with an alternative, more positive thought. Would you like to try some together?”
She stared at her knees. “They said they could help me too. When I went to that first retreat, I did feel happier. Everyone was so nice—they complimented me and made me feel special. And they listened to everything I said, like my opinion actually mattered.”
What Heather was saying sounded like “love-bombing,” which was something various groups and even salespeople did. They give you what they think you’re missing, encouragement, compliments, validation, to make you feel good about yourself, which in turn makes you feel good about them. I thought back to the commune, remembering that Aaron would ask us to be extra nice to new members and show them how happy we were living at the commune.
Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate myself for leaving. Why didn’t I just stay there?”
I waited to see if she’d answer the question for herself, but she was just staring at her feet now.
“You didn’t want anyone else to raise your child, which is perfectly understandable,” I said. “Have you been having more troubling thoughts?”
She nodded and wiped her nose on her arm. “I don’t want to tell Daniel about them.” She took a shuddering breath. “He’s always worrying about me.”
“We won’t tell Daniel anything you don’t want us to. But you can talk to me. Is there anything you’d like to share?”
Her face grew sad. “We did sharing exercises at the retreats. Daniel and I were partners the second weekend I was there—that’s how we met. Aaron matched us. He said our energy was really strong together.”
“What kind of exercises?”
“We had to confess things.” She shifted her weight, tugged at the bandage on her wrist like it was suddenly too tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
My chest had also tightened at the word “confess.” I wanted to ask Heather more about these exercises, to see if they were like the confession ceremony I had participated in or something even worse. Maybe there was a clue there as to my memory loss. I hesitated. It wouldn’t be right to push Heather before she was ready—but she was the only person who could help fill in the blanks. I was still thinking about what to do when she continued on her own.
“They said they could help me, that all my problems were in my head.” Sounding wistful now, Heather said, “So after a couple of weeks, I sold everything I owned, moved to River of Life, and started helping in the store.” I wondered what kind of store they had and whether it was at the commune.
“I wanted to be good at something.” Heather paused, thinking. “Before Daniel came to the retreat, he’d been in Haiti, helping after the earthquake, and before
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