The Mixtape by Brittainy C. Cherry

17

OLIVER

Dr. Preston wasn’t what I expected her to be. When she showed up to my house, I was expecting to find a woman in a business suit with a briefcase. Instead, I got a very vibrant woman with a wildly bright outfit. She wore thick-framed glasses, and I could almost feel her energy bursting from her being.

“Hi, Oliver?” she asked, holding her hand out toward me. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

I shook her hand. “Yes, Dr. Preston, it’s nice to meet you too.”

She waved a dismissive hand at me. “Oh, no. No ‘Doctor’ needed, really. Just call me Abigail. Can I come in?”

I stepped to the side of the door and welcomed her inside. I didn’t know what to expect from the experience. I had my doubts that Abigail would be able to help me work through the mess that was my mind.

“Do you want to work in my office? Or . . . ?” I started.

Abigail gave me the warmest smile and shook her head. “Oh, we can go wherever you want. I’m flexible. Whatever makes you comfortable. This is about you, not me.”

I chose the living room. She sat in the oversize chair, and I sat down on the sofa. My anxiety started to build up, and I was almost certain Abigail had some sort of sixth sense, because she shook her head. “Don’t worry, that’s normal.”

“What’s normal?”

“Feeling like you don’t know what’s about to happen.”

I snickered and pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s exactly what I’m feeling. I’m sorry, I’m new to this whole thing. I tried once, and well, the paparazzi kind of ruined that for me. I honestly don’t even know why I decided to reach out to you. I don’t know much, truthfully.”

“Well, I do,” she said matter-of-factly as she crossed her legs and leaned forward toward me. “You know why you reached out to me, Oliver?”

“Do tell.”

“Because you got to the point of being tired of being tired. You are at the edge of despair, and you are looking for light. And when you start looking, it’s good to know that the light is always there for you. My job is to help you get to it sooner rather than later. Now, I’m going to be honest with you: some days you’re going to think I’m your best friend; other days I’m public enemy number one. But regardless, I’m on your team. I’m here to help in any way I can. Healing doesn’t walk a linear line; it takes the messy route. I believe that healing comes during both the dark days and the bright ones. It’s not all rainbows. Sometimes healing means slicing open the scars that made you hurt so much before and examining them to fully understand yourself. Why did the cut hurt you in the past? How did it change you into who you are today? What can we learn from the pain of your yesterdays to better your tomorrows?”

“It seems like a lot to unpack,” I confessed.

“It is. But luckily, there’s no rush. We get to unpack each bag as slowly, as carefully, as we choose. We’re on your timeline, Oliver, not the world’s.”

That brought me a comfort that I didn’t even know I needed to have.

Abigail leaned back in her chair and straightened her glasses. “So, you’re a musician, correct?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Successful?”

“Yes.”

“Did that make you happier?” she asked.

“No.”

She nodded. “So, what you’re saying is, outside success doesn’t define a person’s happiness?”

“Exactly.” For a long time, I believed that money and fame would make everything okay. Truth was, there wasn’t a dollar amount that could make a person happy if their soul was sad.

“So you already know the truth that so many people miss out on. True success comes from within. And that success is defined by being able to wake up and have gratitude. That’s the goal. Now, that’s not saying that everything is perfect when you are happy. That’s not what happiness is. Happiness, gratitude, is the ability to wake up and say, yes, some things in my life are hard right now, but I still get to feel good about one or two things. You get to choose joy, even when times are tough. That’s where we are going to get you.”

“That sounds too good to be true.”

“It always does in the beginning. So,” she said, opening her colorful notebook. She grabbed a pen from behind her ear and began scribbling. “Tell me your truth.”

“My truth?”

“Yes. Tell me the thing that you think more often than not. No matter how good or bad it is.”

I parted my lips and felt ashamed of the thought that was sitting there on the back of my tongue. The thought that had haunted me for months now. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Here as in on Earth?”

I nodded. “I mean, I don’t want to die either. But I have those thoughts. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like it’s my own thought.”

“Not every thought you have is yours. We live in a world where outside noise pollutes our minds. With you being a celebrity, I’m sure people are tossing thoughts and commentary your way all the time.”

“Yes, exactly. There’s so much noise in my head, and I don’t know what belongs to me.”

“We’re going to figure all of this out, don’t you worry. Regardless, that’s a good thought to work with. I’m glad you shared that. Speaking that thought out loud gives it less power. And we are going to work through that thought over the next few weeks, okay?”

I nodded and she smiled. I didn’t even think she knew how her smile worked, but it was powerful. The way she smiled my way made me feel as if I wasn’t completely damaged goods.

“So now, tell me about your mixtape,” she said.

“My what?”

“Your mixtape. I figured as a musician, this would be the best way to get to know your story. Every person in this world has a mixtape of sorts, a collection of tracks that defines their lives. Each memory is a song, and they all come together to create a masterpiece. So, tell me about your story. What lyrics, what melodies, live on your mixtape?”

In that moment, I knew I was in the right hands.

I took a deep breath, clasped my hands together, and began to speak about one of the most important songs on my mixtape. As the words sat in my throat, they burned, but I managed to push them out of me. I managed to share that painful song. “I had a twin brother named Alex who passed away almost seven months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Oliver.” Abigail looked up at me with sincere eyes and comforting tones. “Go ahead. Tell me a little about him.”