Chapter One Hundred Two

Raleigh

Two weeks later

“And how does that make you feel?” The lady sitting across from me asks, her pen in her left hand, tapping against the spiral notebook in front of her.
*I hate this stupid question. I want to snap back with ‘How the heck do you think it makes me feel’.*
Instead, I reply with, “It makes me feel like I’m losing him. Which is stupid because he’s always there. We live in the same freaking house for Christ’s sake but it’s different. There’s this distance between us that hasn't been there since we got back together.”
Without missing a beat, she asks, “And why do you think that is?”
*Freaking A! I’ve explained this already! Is this lady dense or something?*
“Because there’s no intimacy between us anymore,” I reply, trying to keep my tone from being snotty.
She jots something down on her notepad and then asks, “And what do you consider intimacy?”
I want to roll my eyes and scream because I feel like we’re just going around in circles.
“What do you mean *‘What do I consider intimacy?*” Isn’t intimacy what you feel when you have sex with another person?”
My therapist gives me a sad smile and with a shake of her head, she says, “No, dear. Intimacy does come with sex but it’s not the only form of it.”
I give her a curious look and say, “Okay…so, what other forms of intimacy are there?”
Rhonda, the therapist that I’ve been seeing twice a week for the last couple of weeks, gets up from her desk, still holding onto her notebook and pen and takes the chair opposite me. She sits comfortably with one knee up and the other leg bent at a ninety-degree angle, lying against the cushion of the chair. She rests her elbow against her propped-up knee and then begins explaining, “There are actually many types of intimacy. There’s sexual intimacy, which is what you are describing, but there’s also emotional intimacy.”
I wait to see if she’s going to elaborate and when she doesn’t, I ask, “And what does emotional intimacy consist of?”
Smiling, she seems pleased that I’m actually engaging in the conversation for once and says, “Emotional intimacy is when you and your partner share things that are important to each of you with one another. Things such as thoughts, feelings and even one’s vulnerabilities are considered examples of emotional intimacy.”
Then, she asks a question that feels like it should be a no-brainer but under the circumstances, I can’t really blame her. “Do you two talk and listen to one another. Do you empathize with each other or validate what one another is feeling?”
I think about how he is always there for me, even still, wanting me to talk out what I’m feeling and how he truly listens. But then I think about how I haven’t done that so much in return and guilt fills me.
Instead of admitting that I’ve failed in that department, I decide to be honest in another way by saying, “I didn’t realize that was intimacy.”
“It is.” She says, then presses her notepad against the leg that is propped up and begins writing. “Are you both able to have meaningful conversations that go beyond filler topics like the weather?” She asks, moving on. At my nod she continues, “That is called intellectual intimacy.”
“Do the two of you have memories that you have built together? Such as things that you have done together, games, sports, or other activities or maybe adventures that you have gone on together?” I smile, thinking about the time that Lincoln took me to Rocky Mountain National Park and all the fun that we had just getting there, and nod in answer.
“That type of intimacy is called experiential intimacy. There is also social intimacy, where you make him a part of your friend’s group and he does the same. Or, if there are things that you enjoy doing together, such as art, music, dancing, going to art-based activities such as art museums or dance classes. That is creative intimacy.”
“Then, there is also physical intimacy.” She states, giving me a moment to think on that one.
After a moment, confused I say, “Isn’t that the same as sexual intimacy?”
“Actually, no. It’s not. Physical intimacy is a type of intimacy that involves more than just sexual intimacy. Can you take a guess as to what kind of things constitute as physical intimacy?” She asks, adjusting her position, this time she crosses one leg over the other and leans forward, placing her notebook and pen in her lap.
I try to think about it, assuming that physical intimacy involves physical touch and say, “Is it things like, hugging and holding hands. Stuff that has to do with physical touch?”
She nods her head, a smile playing at her lips as she says, “Good,” and writes something down. “It is both of those, along with cuddling, kissing and making love. Physical intimacy builds closeness, affection, as well as builds trust, just as many other types of intimacy do. They all allow people to grow feelings of safety and connect between one another.”
“There are a lot of different types of intimacy,” I say, surprised.
It doesn’t escape my notice that we actually still have almost every one of the types of intimacy that she described, even if some are more one sided than others.
“There are,” Rhonda agrees. “And it sounds like there is still intimacy between you and Lincoln. Even without the sexual intimacy.”
“There are,” I agree. “I just didn’t realize that all of those things, things that he has done every day from the very beginning, was intimacy. I mean, I do most of that stuff with my brothers and best friend, too.”
“Yes, that is because you share intimacy with all of them, even if it’s different from what you share with someone that you are in love with. Focus on building up that side of your relationship with Lincoln and believe it or not, it should help with the need for sexual control as well.”
“Really?” I ask, skeptical. “How?”
“It’s something that will happen naturally as your relationship with Lincoln strengthens on a whole new level.”
“How will I know when I’m ready to take *that* step again?” I ask, putting emphasis on the word *that* to insinuate that I’m meaning sex.
She chuckles, then says, “Well, while you are definitely not there yet. You will get there, and you will know. Just listen to your heart, mind and body. If you’re able to think of having sex without getting scared, having to have any sort of control of the situation or thoughts of what happened to you, then you will be ready.”
“Yeah,” I say with a shake of my head and an uncomfortable chuckle. “I’m definitely not there yet.”
“Let’s talk about that. Do you think you can do that?” At the mere thought of talking about it, I begin to break out in cold sweats, my heart racing and my breathing becoming difficult.
“Just breathe through it.” Rhonda encourages. Then instructs, “Breath in for a count of four. Hold it for a count of one. Good. Now, breath out of your mouth for a count of six. Hold it for one count. Good, you’re doing good. Keep going.”
I try to do as she says but I struggle to even get air into my lungs, and then when I try to let it back out, it’s like an elephant is sitting on my chest, refusing to let me exhale.
However, by some miracle, I manage.
Barely.
“Good. Again.”
I follow her instructions several more times, each time the act being easier than the last. Just as my breathing normalizes, an alarm sounds signaling the end of our hour.
“I would like to try to discuss at least some of what happened at our next session. Talking and working on the other things we discussed, is the only way that you are going to be able to move past it and in turn, move past you need for control.” At her words, I feel the signs of the panic attack returning and being using her breathing technique to try to work through it.
She gives me a sympathetic look and gets to her feet. Placing her hand on my arm, she says, “Try to prepare yourself as best you can. It won’t be easy. Without struggle, there is no progress. But talking about it, facing it, that’s the first step in putting it fully behind you for good.”
I nod at her words, then heave myself out of the chair. I follow her to the door and step through when she opens it.
“Have a good week, Raleigh and try to strengthen the areas that we discussed today.”
“I will. Thank you.” I tell her, then I make my way from her office back through the waiting area, then out the door, the summer afternoon immediately hitting me square in the face.