Like I said, my parents let me hermit as long as I went to therapy on Monday.

Mom drove me. The drive was mostly silent. She asked how I was a few minutes after beginning to drive, I responded with a “I’m struggling, but I’ll be fine.” And the conversation fizzled into nothing up until we had to say goodbye to each other when we arrived at the building.

I check in and sit in the waiting room, staring at the painting of an elk on the wall facing me. I’ve never noticed before how piercing the elk’s gaze is. It stares right at you with its full-black eyes, posed as if shocked at what you’re doing. What was I doing that was so shocking? I mentally ask it. I wasn’t the one who faked his own murder.

My therapist waddles into view and I stand. She leads me into her office, which is lots smaller than the therapy offices on tv, I must break that to you. As I sit on the forest-green couch adjacent to her desk, I remind myself of the 3 Lies… Does that apply to my therapist? Of course it does. But I had to tell her something or else I’d die of the stress of keeping my secret. Or would I? I change my stance on the issue rapidly and repeatedly.

“So how have you been this week?” she asks.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything about this.

I start at the top. I tell her about his death, and my grieving. Then I tell her I’m going on bike rides to help with grief. I tell her where I went yesterday and what I did to make peace with his death. She doesn’t so much react as she does simply listen to me ramble, sometimes interjecting with a “How did you feel in that situation”. And that question really got me stumped. I drop everything and state,

“If I’ll be honest. Lately, I don’t feel a thing.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asks.

“I mean, I’ve been so preoccupied with these… bike rides, that, I don’t know. I’m so obsessed that I haven’t really felt so much as thought. I think myself into pieces, but it’s to the point where my feelings aren’t really there anymore.”

I stopped myself, of course, before I got into anything relating to the business card or the clue. Damming that shit up took actual effort this time.

“We all process grief in different ways. Feeling numb is perfectly normal in times like these. You aren’t doing anything wrong in using a coping mechanism. I’m actually really proud of you for taking the step to create a coping mechanism for this, such as bike riding. That’s really healthy.”

“Yeah…”

The session was over before I knew it. I left the clinic, spotting my mom’s car awaiting my return. The numb feeling is normal, but knowing that didn’t help me shift it. Blank-faced, I planned my next course of action.