Washington, DC - 2018

Dr. Antol has gotten one of those noise machines meant to drown out any voices coming from behind the doors of her office. It's a round disc plugged into the wall and sitting under one of those office style mahogany stained hall tables. She has business cards, a pale yellow linen and beside them a glass dish with red and white striped candy mints. The lamp is a nondescript shiny gold urn with a beige shade. The incandescent bulb casts a yellow light below a framed  black and white picture of flowers,  the petals zoomed in so large the image appears abstract. I adjust my skirt and smooth it over my kneww. Rest my hands on the arm of the black leather chair. One of four that sit on the permitter of the small waiting room.

This is my first visit since you've come home. I feel guilty that I've painted such a negative picture of you to Dr. Antol. I was mad at you Edward, so I told all of our secrets. Secrets that often I don't remember again after revealing to her. That makes me unreliable. Then they come back to me like icy fists into snow or sharp hail that hit me int he face, burning. I hate those memories and I hate struggling to retrieve them.

Despite the postpartum mental illness, these lapses are not new. They go back even before you. They started at the end of my relationship with Jack. They extended to our fights. Our life together is an impressionistic oil painting, an ocean scene. I can make out figures on the shore, but the perspective is too far from the surf to make out what's taking place. But, of course I know what is taking place. I was there. And now, this noise machine is sending mechanical ocean waves, almost like the Slaters, the surf rushing. retreating. So close to the memories, rolling in and retreating with a rush of air and sound. This is almost the same, except it is in a vacuum.

"Annie?"

There she is. Dr. Antol. She's likely in her forties but to me she seems much older than 10 years my senior. She has more authority than the counselor we went to after Maddy was born - That therapist waas cheerful, hopeful "call me Liz." Liz. More friendly than anything else. Long sandy hair. A heavy coat of freckles, the kind that are more freckle than skin. Deep blue eyes and a nice smile except the front tooth that was just a little crooked. Liz never challenged our veneer. In fact, I think she bought the image we projected. For that reason no one noticed that I constrained my dark thoughts for that hour every week-riding through the depression with a smile. You sometimes talked the whole hour with Liz about the novel you were writing. Analyzed the plot as if it were the subject of our problems—working out the arc—too much emphasis on plot not enough on the characters. When I attempted suicide, just a month after you left us, once my condition had stabilized a social worker inquired as to whether I had a therapist. She said I needed one on my psychiatric team. I shook my head while tears washed over my face. I sunk into the bed, glad for a "reset" a place with no responsibility. A house of cards fallen flat on the floor. I could build my life back one thing at a time. I let Liz drift out with the tide as I had so many other things. Liz had been too naiive for my darkness. 

Also at that time I didn't want any therapist or psychologist. I didn't want to explore any more. If Liz had dug deep or even inquired, she would have found out it had been more than depression. There had also been mirages and thoughts. There was an evil heart beat that poisoned my thinking. It had been there when Maddy was first born but it wasn't fully formed. With Maddy, it had been a haunting I could stifle. Even the depression after Maddy didn't have the undertow. I know now that the darkness can take you, pull you under. It can take your child with you. I can't explain it to you now Edward but it was Alexander and me. 

I could never talk to you about the psychosis after Alexander was born. After you left. You would hate me for what I did. What I almost did to Alexander.

We were in that boat anchored just beyond the island where the wild things are. Maddy -and you- were safe on the land living amongst the wild things. Alex and I would never make it — we couldn't get into reality. His eyes. My eyes. We spoke about darkness and the reasons we were in a buoyant limbo. The engine inside me gave me signals, sent important information into my brain. I would wake at night, sometimes having not slept for two days. Two days Edward. Mom knew but she'd thought I just needed a break. Edward the week I swallowed the pills, having fought the desire to take Alexander with out to the beach house, that six hour drive, early winter-it would have been desolate. I planned to let him cry the whole way. I couldn't feed him any more. I was afraid of my breast milk. I felt it was toxic so it had been eight hours already. I was going to drive out to the beach and enter the ocean. The dark sea. That was the voice the only voice. Over and over "the dark sea." It was sometimes a whistle through the panes and gap in the French doors leading from the kitchen to the yard. He cried and cried that night Edward and the a voice started whispering "the dark sea."

I was so afraid of that voice because each time I heard it it had a slightly different meaning. I thought—it was an interesting thought if it weren't so terrifying. It was the kind of logic we've had laughing after we getting high, saying something over and over and realizing-in that high way- how much words are imbued with meaning. It was a syntactic and pragmatic interpretation. It's as if a word is so flexible it holds one's own identity. But these weren't humorous. These were physical, these distilled into terror than dangerous intention.

I was so afraid of what I'd do to Alexander that I decided to swaddle him and place him in his crib. As much as I wanted to "release us" into the dark sea, I also began superstitious rituals to protect him. When he was wrapped like a burrito in one of those receiving blankets I bought myself some time, thinking God was holding him. So I placed him in God's hands that night and went back to our room. The hallway between his room and ours was like a fun house and it felt as if the walls were slanted and the floor a ramp that led to an impossible low ceiling. I was so large I could hardly fit through the door way of our room. "into the dark sea" the voice alternated now between a child -myself I knew- to the dreaded teenager. The same exact seventeen year old teenager on the beach that night in Slater's beach. A a quarter mile from your parents' beach house. Then it was a male voice I didn't recognize. It was then I swallowed the pills. The whole bottle. I sat. Felt calm. I allowed myself the soft comfort of the down blanket on our bed. I felt peace in the aesthetic we'd created in our home. I was happy our children would have peace once I was gone. I heard the voice ever so slightly and because I was afraid it would return but worse, I found the oxycontin you had when you broke your wrist. There was still seven of the ten pills left. We'd held on to them-do you remember-just in case we needed them sometime. I went to our half finished en suite bathroom. Mostly framed with two by fours but our gorgeous copper hammered pedestal tub—I'd fought you on it, do you remember? I didn't like it at all, but it really is lovely. It was so large and when full of hot water, I could nearly submerge deep into it. We took so many baths together after we were married. We'd installed the chestnut floors with radiant heating beneath. We made sure to have the fixtures and the floor installed. And the iron glass bay window looking out over the garden. Lucy had suggested space outside of the widow and a strategically planted living bamboo screen ten feet from the house. The light that filters in in the morning is intoxicating, casting moving shadows and garden silhouettes on the wide plank flooring. We splurged. It was the first time I felt guilty for the money we spent on decorating. The Spanish Baroque cabinet we'd converted into our sink. It was so lovely, it's has marquetry inlays along the front and sides. The Vargueno 18th century chest of drawers, original iron hardware. Lucy found it for us, had it shipped from Spain. She managed the cabinet maker-I almost objected- felt we shouldn't alter the piece. It'd been a chest of drawers all those hundreds of years. "Oh don't be silly" she said of the provenance. "we'll preserve the inlay urn and leaves" She was right.The room still unfinished-maybe always unfinished-was my favorite. You and I soaking for hours, reading your "pages" passing one after the other, smoking a joint. Drinking red wine. Then, after Maddy-once my darkness receded— hours with her soaking while she played with plastic boats, a blow up island, little plastic people.

But after you left, after Alexander settled down, that night I searched the cabinet for the oxycontin. After I'd already a handful of Ambien—our go-to strategy on transcontinental flights. A whole bottle Edward, at least fifteen pills. I walked into the master bath. The radiant heat off, the floor cold. I filled the copper tub, I made the water hot. I could feel myself growing tired. This is the dark sea. This will transport me to the ocean, into the universe of salt and phosphorus light. I could hear Alexander crying, I opened the window to the garden, the cold air flew in, there was a light flurry. I did't think of you Edward, I finally didn't obsess over you and Leora, the persistent image of your perfect body beside her. The way your skin felt moist and soft on top of hers. On top of hers. The icy wind blew, I swallowed seven oxycontin. I was already int he tub, I swallowed the scalding water, one pill at a time My skin was burning but the pain was absent.

That was it.

I didn't know, but likely at the very moment I lost consciousness our little Maddy-safe at mom's house- had a full tantrum. She wanted her books. She couldn't sleep without where the wild things are. Mom hated driving in the snow but Maddy wouldn't calm until mom brought her back home to get her book. Mom had thought maybe Maddy had wanted me. Maybe she needed to see me. And, you'll never forgive me Edward, little Maddy was the one who found me in the tub, water flooding our beautiful chestnut floors. How they were not destroyed is beyond explanation.

Mom said she ran instinctively to the baby's room. She was screaming into the phone 911. She could't consul Maddy. The house was a mad house. They carried me in the stretcher. Maddy screaming but I couldn't hear her.

Two EMTs - the ambulance screamed away from the house. Mom didn't know what to do with the children. She didn't want to call our friends. My sister was in New York. She did't know how to reach you Edward.

Edward, that's why I didn't call you after I attempted suicide. That's why mom told you to stay away from me. You'd left her daughter to die alone.

You ready? Dr. Antol smiles at me. And glance towards the room. The one down the long hall, past the little noise machine. When I stand after picking up my purse, again I am reminded by her height. I forget. I feel so much like a child in her office, during therapy that her height seems the natural asymmetry of adult to child. But, when I stand and adjust my purse. When I feel the pads in my bra, soaking up leaking milk, I remember I am not a child. I feel the difference in our height. She's just about as tall as you Edward, yet in a woman her six feet to my five six is awkward.

"Yes, how are you?" I ask.

"I'm doing well. Busy, but well." She starts down the hallway and I am sobered by the antiseptic office feel.The dry wall as compared to our lath and plaster, wall paper, wood, stone, brick. I feel lucky—I always do-that we have such a tasteful home and that we had hit the jackpot We were on a winning streak back then.

When we enter her office, I see a new cream colored shade over the window that spans the length of the wall. It filters the light.

"This is new." I say as I sit on a leather club chair—Office Depot style. Maybe not even leather. I run my hand over the arm and yes, indeed it feels like vinyl.

"Yes. The light was bothersome late afternoon. My clients had to adjust the chair."

I'd felt that stream of glaring light on occasion. It was blinding but to me it added to the hyper real context. I liked it.

"Well," she smiles"how are you?"

I'm apprehensive about confessing that Edward is back. He's home.

"What is it? How are you feeling? The depression? Is the medication still—"

"Yes. Yes." I don't mention the lingering visual illusions, in my periphery. Not hallucination but a combination of memory, fear, trick of the eye. The drops— the sudden desperation. I don't mention any of that because...because most of my life is back and really, (Edward, I believed-at that time, and quite a bit more before you returned—I believed the psychosis was hormonal, the result of pregnancy and birth and in my estimation it would wear off and that it was -indeed-wearing off.)  I didn't know that a wall, like the jetty, stone storm breaker. In province town-that it was limited in it's protection against a powerful storm. I didn't know that at all. The pregnancy, Maddy and Alexander, these just added to all that surge suppressed.

"Edward's home."

Dr Antol keeps her eyes me. Silent. I let my mind water to the metal brackets that hold the new shades. I trace the metal window frame and study the pale green walls.

"Annie," she says to me after a long pause. A tone that is imbued with judgement despite her neutral delivery "Annie. This is big, right?"

I nod. "yes."

"How did you—most couples would seek therapy before reconcill--...since..."

I nod. "really?"

"What do you mean?"

"I find that surprising," I say Honestly, not sarcastically not challenging her. I really found it hard to believe that after a separation most couples go to therapy.

"Well I would think. In your case...Annie, tell me about it."

"He came to Maddy's birthday. He was back. His old self. Mom told him about my suicide attempt. He's moving his things back. We are just moving back into the rhythm."

"How do you feel?"

"I love him."

"How do you feel about him coming back?"

I shrug. "I like seeing him with Alexander."

"Annie. I'll be honest. Your relationship—it's volatile. As a professional, I have to tell you that his propensity for violence concerns me. It took quite a lot for you to regain your power and this is...Annie have you discussed this with him?"

"What? Discussed what?"

"The history violence."

Edward I was as shocked as you must be reading this. Violence? I don't like the phrase and those moments are removed from my consciousness. In fact, I can't really remember. In fact, I do recall several sessions in the hospital when Dr. Antol visited. I do recall the night on the beach—the night with your father-you stopping him. using your physical strength, overtaking him. saving me. I don't recall what I've told Dr. Antol but I don't think I told her you were ever responsible for any violence. If I try very hard I can remember the night at your parents house. We sat in front room, the cozy tv room where we watched movies and ate popcorn—Jack, your mom, and I -not you. Not your dad. Even in the TV/Game room, your family's wealth evidenced in every room, the view, from nearly every space. The private beach with sea grass, weathered picket fence, then an opening. An opening to a vast beach. Their parcel with so much beach front that only once or twice I encountered other people. Over all these years. Before, when I was a teenager with Jack, then—well, then after I chose you. We were in the room. That night we were stricken with silence. The ambulance didn't come so you drove me in your Saab—we were running way—your father had since left, drunk furious bleeding from your fist—yes, you were violent but not against me. We drove—I remember that Edward—we were almost at the barnstable bridge, the evening descending quickly but still enough light to cast euphoric shadows and reflections across building that dotted and grew sparse the closer we got to your home. I was so confused and stunned and that gave way to the endless silence. The place where the hallucinations and delusions now live. You didn't say anything for a few hours. The next time I saw your mother would be three years later, when I returned to the beach house with you. But the night of violence, we were strangers. The next time I saw your mom-Carol- she was already on her third gin and tonic, hinting then saying I destroyed her family. You were the one who took control, unpacked our clothes and neatly placed them in the oak dressers, one on each side of the French drawers. One for you and one for me. You treated me like a child. Then you sat next to me. The room nearly dark.

You weren't violent. Your voice was calm. I was fine--no memories and your mother just and old drunk-not even that old. You were concerned. Not violent, "Talk to me Annie" you'd finally whispered. "I shouldn't have brought you back here. I don't know why I did."

At one time I could have dealt with it but not back at the beach house. Not after all that transpired—at that time—it had been only two years since the night on the beach. I had full amnesia and that may have been when I stopped remembering the night on the beach. 

"Annie?" Dr. Antol inturrupted my thoughts.

I snapped back returned to time and place. 

Dr Antol was frustrated and I seriously considered if she would drop me as a client.

"I'm sorry. There's so much. I just want to get to the other side if you know what I mean?"

"The other side of the postpartum psychosis? The depression?"

I nod and I feel myself start to cry. It comes up often, the night "I almost killed Alexander." I whispered.

"Annie, I'm worried. I'm worried that he is back and there's no plan."

"I have never said I think it's violence. That' you That's what you said. I have never said that."

"I'll be honest with you. There is a pretty clear and concrete definition for—"

"Your definition. Not mine."

She lets out a deep breath and I suddenly feel as if I have nothing left to say. Yet, I know this is a condition of keeping the children. I know that social workers are vigilant, even mom. I have made gains and proven I can manage caring for Maddy and Alexander and I have kept most of the lapses at bay and they were quieting.

So yes, I am not in control of this as much as I'd like to be. I'd like to move on. Forget the hospital, forget Dr. Antol, forget the medication. I'd like to slip back into bed with you, Edward and return to our love affair. Our perfect family, our beautiful home.

"He's not violent," I finally say. I hold her gaze. "Did I say he was?

She nods. "You don't remember?"

I shake my head. Finally, I say "I know there was violence, but it was not Edward."

She waits. "Who was it?"

The fissure opens. I don't remember the rest of the afternoon. By the time I return to myself, I am sitting across from you drinking a rich Merlot and laughing at the story you are retelling about your afternoon with the kids. Maddy teaching Alexander to tie a shoe, her little sneaker. She hadn't realized a five month old can't understand, but she was so insistant and he just giggled as she held his hands and demonstrated making a bunny with the laces, looping and knotting just the way you taught her. 

Chapter __

You enter the kitchen half walking half stretching you're dressed for a run I look up from my coffee cup. Alexander and Maddy have been fed. Where you going. Ask. Run. You say turning off the faucet.

Wait I'll come with you we'll bring the stroller.

I'm going for a long run you say.

Oh yeah well going on a longer one

Seriously down around the capitol

So?

You laugh. Smile keep your eyes on me

You're so scared I taunt. Trying to sneak out because you can't keep up with a post part. Lady.

Is That what you are?post part lady

I wait. Walk over to him and stand close. Yes that is what I am. I pretend to challenge him. Raise my eyebrows.

Go ahead then. Get dressed. I'll get the kids ready.

We are running...

When the sun hits my skin and my face grows moist I remember one particular moment. St Thomas/bla spring break and we've been swimming and laying on the head j for hours we are high. Really high so everything is liquid. Hallucinatory. Your putting sunscreen on my stomach it's slow and methodical. It's sexual but it's not sexual - it's completely sensual phisuologucal it's neurology. It's religious. We are connected like that. Like this - there is no way to imagine that you were anywhere this close to Lenore.

We never talk when we run. The kids never fuss. That's how we are - we for together in so many ways. You slow, run in place for a minute then stop you lean over and catch your breath. I stop. Ypu ok?

God Annie you kill me. You're not exhausted?

No pain no—

Unexpectedly you grab me abs hug me.

Stop ! You're gross!

You kiss me anyway. You're gross

Let's get the kids a juice abs croissant. Ypu look over the top of the stroller.

They're sleeping b

They'll wake monsters. I'll go easy on you we can walk —let's go to ...

Ok.

Once we warm down abs I stop say dreaming I can feel how tired I am too. What do I do with these mental shifts these escapes. Do I trick my body into a different experience ? Change my dopamine or whatever ?

I know I'm escaping but you are here watching , protecting

Later, we are all in the garden, it's cool chilly int he afternoon but we put on our fleece jackets because Maddy wants to play int he fountain...alexander is content when he's digging in the little box we used to use for a herb garden. Recently I've dragged it over her the fountain in the back...so I can watch both of them...they've taken to transferring water to and from the bed. I try to enforce a rule keeping mud and dirt out of the fountain.

You shouldn't let the put dirt in there you say

I know. I put a little screen and clean it out after they're done.

It'll ruin the motor.

I know I turn the motor off and then on later so it will keep the water clean.

I don't know Annie...do they have to—

You tell them,

Hey Maddy -can daddy bring you a tub of water out and you can do your mud near the porch?

No. She doesn't put much energy into protesting at all. She's so busy with the plastic cat she's submerging then wrapping in leaves.

You grimace—

They keep playing and it takes little to keep Alexander absorbed in the mud. My job is primarily to keep him from interrupting Maddy's play.

You sit on the bench and wait. You look around and I keep my eyes on you. "Annie" you say. don't censor yourself around the kids and it's immediately off putting. You look at me as Maddy whispers and narrates her actions: take this over here and put the

___

Annie. I left because you were getting sick again. You closed off

Ok can we talk later

no. Annie you won't talk to me about the beach with my dad, or the depression. You still won't tell me about the night of the suicide.

Edward!
Maddy still doesn't look up.

You hate secrets Edward, you do. That's a good thing and it's a bad thing.

But, you won't even let me talk about what happened to me as a kid. You're my best friend but Annie you don't deal with shit.

Now I'm not censoring myself. "you're going to put your affair on me."

"yes. Or, that's why—that was it. That's why...it was stupid and she's a nut job —but Annie she listened to me and I finally had someone I could tell. You think it's all—"

"You finally had someone you could tell?"

"yes. I could finally talk about it."
"Well good for you Edward. Good-fucking-for. you." Now Maddy looks up. She shakes her head. "mama...you can't say that."

I'm glaring at you shaking my head.

"I feel like you make me carry your trauma"

Something freezes and I feel shame. I feel as if he's right as if it is completely inconceivable that we both went through that and I literally never talked about it.What must he have thought? Never.

I must have a look on my face that revealed my trauma or whatever it was. I could feel my hands going numb and chilled. It's the darkness that rises up. Such a thick ink —freezing saline....in my mouth and nose and I can't breathe. I think of the scalding water the night I took the pills, submerged myself in the copper tub—maddy coming in screaming and on cue she starts crying. Miraculously Alexander doesn't turn from his play, his concentration insulating him. Maddy is you. Alexander is me.

"Annie!" I wake from my dissociation. You aren't compassionate - you're angry. "Jesus Christ." You reach down and lift Maddy up. You're rubbing her back and she's screaming. "shhhh" you say. "It' ok honey." But she's inconsolable. "here honey. You want to go on a drive with daddy?" She's taking deep breaths.

"I'll take the kids."
"Alexander's fine." I say.

"All right." You're resigned so focused on Maddy now. She's still crying and I can see how you instinctively sooth her, you are gently rocking her in your arms as you walk towards the house.I can see you in the kitchen, still holding our daughter, I see you through the French doors as you open the fridge. I know you're grabbing a juice box and cheese stick.

I sit with Alex for a little while and call mom while he plays.

"Mom, did Edward tell you what happened?" I ask when she says hello.

Annie are you ok?

"Yes, when you had lunch. Did Edward tell you?"
"what? Did we talk about the suicide attempt?"

I want to elaborate, ask her about the night on the beach at Slater's that summer when I was s19

Honey, what's wrong.

I found another way to ask. "Did he tell you why he had the affair?"

No sweetheart he didn't. Are you fighting.

"no. I just realized I hadn't asked you about your conversation."

"we just talked about going forward. What I expect."

"What does that mean?"

"that he needs to do some repair work, Annie."

"OK. I have to go."

"Annie, what's going on."

"Nothing."
"Can I come get the kids?"
"No! They're fine. I'm fine."

"You'll bring them tomorrow?"

"Yes."
"Annie. You call me any time. No notice needed. I'll be there. I'll come watch the kids or I'll sit with you. I'll go anywhere with you. If you feel desperate —this time Annie.call me."

"OK>