love story

"My job is not
to make you happy,"
says Leticia, the therapist
whose name means
full of joy.

I don’t understand.

Then what is your job?
What are we working toward?
What is therapy for
if not to create something
other than depression?

Feelings change.
Be mindful.
Observe.
Describe.
Participate.

Move away
from thinking about what is happening.
Be present.

But—

I notice sadness.
I want to notice happiness.

Is that not a goal?

"You were held back
by thoughts about the situation."

But what if I am held back
by the situation itself?

Consider this.

I once assessed
why a woman needed
a psych evaluation.

"I am here because
I am too happy," she said.

"That is strange, isn’t it?" I asked.

Surely, there was more
to her story.

Or consider Lucia.
Lucia is 14.

Asked when she remembers
being happy,
she cannot remember
such a time.

I suspect Major Depression.
I suggest therapy,
so she can feel happy.

What is your role, Leticia?
Let’s talk about goals.

Because if I asked you—
"Are you happy?"
your answer would
forever change,
according to your philosophy.

But I—

I have known a time
when I was happy.

A time when
happiness lived in me—
not fleeting,
not conditional,
not something to simply observe
and let pass.

A time when,
despite transient moments of sadness,
I was still happy at my core.

And yet—

Even then,
out of habit,
I told the person I loved,
"I am depressed."

Words that no longer fit me.
Words that once defined me.
Words that could hurt her—
make her believe
she brought me no happiness.

But happiness had changed me.
It lived inside me.
It did not deny sadness.
It did not erase struggle.

And yet,
it remained.

The summer flowed into fall and colder months, with colder nights.

In November, we went to the beach dressed in warm coats... the sun had set and it was dark. We climbed a lifeguard's platform. We were standing. The wind blew across the dark beach making it even colder.

"It's cold," she said as she turned in the direction of the ocean. I was behind her looking in the same direction. I wrapped my arms around her from behind her.

I was confused about my physical arousal. This had not been the first time I noticed this happening. I was still haunted by religious brainwashing but everything that was happening was so right. I'm not just talking about this night. Our feelings, passions, desires spoke making everything seem so inevitable.

Don't imagine, dear reader, that during this time period I am leaving out details about what happened. You don't have to wonder if I left out details about whether we went further than kissing or holding each other. I'll get more specific, in a moment, about what was happing during this time period.

I felt a sense of peace in my life. As winter moved into Wilmington, I found work in the human services field working with individuals with developmental disabilities and other similar problems. It's amazing how we can find solutions that match our career trajectory when we are psychologically healthy.

Lynn and I would kiss so passionately at my place when the roommates were out and at her place on Wrightsville Beach. My roommate Donna had rented a second room to a nice girl named Terri.
 

It was awkward when I showed up to see Lynn at her place and her stepfather, Bob, was there because he was not much into making conversation. He spent almost one week every month at the house. He was a pilot for one of the big airlines and so he made good money. I felt like I had to make some conversation with him because technically it was his house along with Diane, Lynn's mother. My parents would have made it known if this was their home.

At one point, I had to ask Lynn, "should I be more polite to him and think of things to say?" I asked her.

She said "no, he's just like that. If he doesn't talk, you don't have to talk to him."

This is what I mean by Lynn having a strong sense of self-esteem. No one was going to control her or disrespect her! I wish I had maintained that attitude with my own family as preparation for how I should insist that everyone treat me. There was nothing shy about Lynn when it came to her life, what she wanted, how she expected to be treated.

It was just awkward from time to time when he was there. If he answered the door, he would just say "come on in" and then shout "Lynn."

I would then hear, "coming" from Lynn.

Bob didn't try to make conversation. He acted as if I wasn't there. So, I didn't say anything either. There was no "thank you for inviting me in." "How are you today, Bob?" Still, if we were hanging out together in a common room and Bob was there, I didn't like Lynn to walk away because if Bob came walking by it felt awkward because he didn't speak.

I didn't need his approval though. It also was clear that what we did together was none of Bob's business!

Lynn's Character & Intimacy at Her Place

Lynn was quiet at the poetry readings or elsewhere. She wasn't looking for recognition or attention in those settings. She wasn't trying to achieve something. I remembered going canoeing with some of the regulars at the poetry readings. I thought I was the newbie at the readings much more than Lynn was. But then I remember this guy named Will referring to Lynn as "the girl in the canoe with Bruce."

Lynn had been coming to these readings longer than I had. She even had a degree in English like most of the other regulars. To me, it had seemed that she would be the one who fits in more naturally with this crowd.

Anyway, Lynn knew I felt a bit awkward with Bob in the house so we would go to her room and shut the door. We talked for hours - when we talked.

It was so refreshing to have this privacy. Her mother would stay for a week every once in a while, but she completely respected Lynn's privacy.

Most of the time we were alone.

I was confused about my body's reaction when I was kissing Lynn so passionately on her bed. I wasn't trying to get aroused sexually but it was happening.

I have to talk about Lynn's medical condition. Lynn was born with Cystic Fibrosis (CF) which affects breathing. Her frequent cough made that obvious. CF causes excess mucus to build up in her body and that causes problems with the lungs and her digestive system. She had to take pills when we went out to eat to help with digestion.

So, as we were getting passionate, on her bed, from time to time, she seemed to want or welcome me being on top of her when we were kissing. I was careful to support my weight to be sure that I wasn't creating problems for her breathing.

I asked "am I heavy? can you breathe okay?"

This scene was somewhat common. You will note that I haven't mentioned getting undressed during this.

There we were... I was on top of her, and I was trying to support myself. I asked, "Am I too heavy?"

She paused for a moment to answer "No" and then drew me closer to continue kissing me - yeah, French kissing as they say. I was surprised that she didn't need to come up for air more often. Anyway, our mouths would part, and our tongues were intertwined. It seemed natural as if it was instinctual. It was mutual... and inescapable. 

I could feel her arms wrapped around me holding me as we kissed. I didn't have to worry about her breathing because she held me so tightly. It seemed like she was telling me to stop interrupting and asking this question.

Of course, she would tell me if I was heavy, and we would shift positions.

On one such occasion, I was on top of her kissing her passionately, my hand underneath her back, sliding down toward her waist. Her arms were wrapped around me. I could feel our hearts beating against each other, her breasts pressed against me. Her shirt was loose-fitting.

My hand first slid under her shirt and against her back. It seemed like my fingers were erogenous zones. I felt her soft skin, as my hand caressed her back and then her arms.

As I supported my weight with my left arm, my right hand moved across her stomach and up the side of her body. She squeezed more tightly. I could feel my heart beating against her - fast and loud. I could hear it beating.

She didn't seem to notice that I was aroused as our waists pressed against each other.

Her arms slid under my shirt and she held tight. She preferred to squeeze me tight, and I preferred moving my hands against her body, caressing her. I didn't stop to tell her to do the same to me, caress me. I didn't want to interrupt what was happening. She seemed to be holding me tight to tell me not to stop. It was a signal of "don't interrupt." 

It would require an interruption for her to actually say that.

I slid a bit to my left and moved my hand toward her breasts. I was so excited as I reached under her bra and caressed her breasts. I was concerned that my hand pressing against her left breast would be uncomfortable, so I moved my hand over to reach under the top of her bra toward her right breast.

This was frustrating for her too. She sat up and loosened her bra and let it drop off. She was still wearing her shirt at that point. I moved toward her and she met me. Her body seemed to be telling me she wanted, needed, or hungered for this to happen.

As we resumed, I caressed her breasts feeling waves of excitement.

I hated to pause because that allowed intrusive ideas to interfere with what was happening and to create confusion... religious ideas (brainwashing) that had filled my head from childhood.

I was reacting sexually even though we were not having sex. This wasn't genital contact... yet.

I felt embarrassed and confused when I had to clean myself secretly in the bathroom right next to her bed. It reminded me of being a child and discovering how it felt and what happened when I rubbed my genitalia. The release of fluid had seemed like something that needed to be kept secret – hidden. So, that instinct was still there, unwanted and just confusing.

The idea of hiding my reaction from Lynn made me feel ashamed like I regretted what was happening. This was a foreshadowing of what would happen later when we were living together. My head had been filled with all these religious ideas that were just so confusing and messed with my mind. To imply that I regretted making us feel good and physically demonstrating my feelings would be wrong and hurtful to Lynn.

In these earliest moments of passion, during this first year together, everything seemed so right  - our bodies were speaking to one another each time we were intimate, not sexual but intimate. My body was responding as if it was sexual.

This scenario could describe more than one such occasion when we were together.

I was not thinking about the depth of our intimacy and how far we had gone in terms of sexual or sensual intimacy. What I mean is that while I felt that annoying instinctual shame about how my body was reacting, I didn't think that we did anything wrong. This was the most physically intimate I had been in my life.

Yes, dear reader, if it's not obvious, I was still a virgin like Lynn. I was so amazed that Lynn had been available when I met her in 92 because she looked so beautiful to me. But she wasn't like other women who needed to be in a relationship.

If you are wondering as to why we didn't go further, why we didn't remove our clothing when we were alone in her room at her home with no one else in the home... it was more of a problem with me. Lynn was aware that I was Catholic and that I went to church on Sundays or Saturday evenings. Fondling and sensual caressing was one thing, but she understood that one thing would lead to another if she had started to undress. 

I know this in light of how she acted after we were living together. She knew that sex was a hangup that I had as a Christain and not something that bothered her as much.

Lynn wasn't shy about asking for what she wanted or acting upon her desires. Neither one of us was coercive but there are ways to act that signal a desire for closeness. I've always seen in TV shows and movies where it is the female in a relationship that wants to wait.

I suppose she was looking for signs as to how far I wanted to go. 

The Christmas holiday approached, and I was talking to my roommates about taking some photographs of a neighborhood that really went all out in decorating their homes around Christmas. 

That's when my roommates, Donna and Terri said they wanted pictures of Lynn and me together. We decorated a tree and they asked us to pose together in different ways. It felt good to know that this somehow meant something to my roommates.

I noticed how comfortable I was now with Lynn. 

The best gift that Christmas for me was what Lynn told me. I was telling her how uncertain I had been about whether she was interested in me early on in our relationship. She laughed and said, "I'm glad you were so persistent."

Okay, so I was right. At first, she wasn't invested as much in the relationship as I was.

I thought I can't imagine anything better than hearing what I was hearing now. To know that she was glad that I was so persistent. This said so much to me. We had both in our own ways found that this relationship happened to us in ways that were unexpected.  

I'm definitely going to embrace this life with Lynn.

Lynn and I were "an item" and that felt so right. I never took things for granted. I would savor every little thing as if my mind was taking snapshots to populate an imaginary photo album within my mind.

Remember Dusty, the emcee for the poetry readings? She worked at the Coastline Convention Center as I mentioned. Because she was so welcoming, I would go there alone sometimes or arrive alone before Lynn joined me. Dusty would ask about Lynn and what was happening with her... how she was doing.

So, among our social circle, people saw us as a couple. Still, there were some formalities to be discussed.  
 

In the last chapter, I mentioned that I asked Lynn out and we spent a weekend together at outdoor events in Wilmington and Carolina Beach, North Carolina. This might be taken out of context to imply something more intimate happened... something more than holding hands. That's not what I meant.

I dropped her off at her home after the fireworks on the fourth of July and picked her up the next day for the poetry reading that was also in Carolina Beach.

Plus, it's hard to describe but there was something more that I felt just holding hands for a few moments when we walked out on that slippery jetty. That's the thing with feelings, sometimes we discover a language that exists that cannot be expressed in thoughts or words... after all, words are the medium by which we think.

I was still struggling with my shyness but only in vague ways. I had insecurities about whether I was really that special if only one person, Celta, had looked at me like I was their whole world like they could love me and/or choose to be with me exclusively.

Maybe she was shy too. I played these ideas over in my mind. "What does she think of me?" "Is she into me?"

As I said earlier, this was a bit surprising to me. I had been grieving the loss of Celta for a long time, but I would not have pursued Lynn if I was not over that loss.

After that fourth of July weekend, I was so invested in wanting to see Lynn every day and as much as possible. I would find myself at work trying to come up with things we could do together that afternoon. It wasn't hard because she lived across the street from the beach. She lived on Wrightsville Beach just across the street from the beach, the ocean. Her mother, Diane, and stepfather, Bob, owned a house that was to be their retirement home and she was living in that house.

I have to admit that I was working hard here to persuade her to make plans with me.

In this story, it seems like for the first month or two I was having to try hard to persuade Lynn to spend time with me that day. That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to be the focus of someone's interest and attention.

I was very invested in making sure that I did nothing to cause her to back off for any reason at all. It would not make sense to talk her into doing something that she didn't want to do. That would defeat the purpose.

From my conversations with other guys or from TV shows (no one incident stands out), it seemed that I wasn't like any guys that I knew. I just felt like I was more feminine for as long as I can remember like I wasn't fully male. Plus, guys seem to make assumptions that a girl is into them if they are seeing them regularly and they will pursue more of their "desires."

Anyway, as I was saying, I don't identify with those ways of thinking and if that means that I am not very masculine, you are catching on dear reader. I am not much of a man.

I certainly didn't assume anything. I would take whatever I could get in terms of a relationship with Lynn.

The topic of whether we were seeing anyone else never came up. I am sure with my persistence she must have known that I was only into her. It was difficult because I had to ensure that I never did anything to push her away. It wasn't that I had low self-esteem, but I just sensed that she was strong - psychologically and emotionally. I mean I sensed that she didn't NEED to be in a relationship, and I didn't feel entitled to her time.

In talking to other females years later, I have learned that many of them do want to be in a relationship and to be a wife someday.  This is not something I would ever recognize with Lynn. She seemed to find our relationship to be something that happened to her as unexpectedly as it did for me.

I felt a bit weird to be pursuing and not finding the interest I had reciprocated for a while. How could I know that would change?

Why was I so obsessed with and excited to just be talking to Lynn or sitting next to her on the beach... maybe holding hands?

I noticed that the first couple of months with Celta were more "comfortable" for me and there was more of a sense of mutual interest. With Lynn, for nearly the first two months, I felt like I had to persuade her to do things every day. Maybe it didn't take a full two months for me to start seeing that Lynn was very interested in me. I was just frustrated for a while that I had to try so hard to persuade her to spend time with me.

To be clear, as I describe this I honestly wasn't thinking of Celta at all - for the first time.

Anyway, this time that I spent with Lynn... It was becoming something of a routine. I guess I liked it when her stepfather or her mother was there.

"Is Lynn there?" I'd ask if they picked up the phone.

With her mother, Diane, the response was "just a moment." With Bob, it was a deep voice with no friendliness in the tone saying "hold on." Then I would hear, "it's Bruce."

I remember how I would show up early sometimes after work. At one point, I was parking down the street from her home and would pass the time reading from the paperback book that I had. It had the stories "Alice in Wonderland" and "Through the Looking Glass" by Lewis Carol.

I respected what she had said was a good time for me to show up. I was too nervous about showing up early. Again, there was no way I was going to do anything to make her uncomfortable or to act in any way with disrespect.

I didn't have to work really hard to persuade Lynn to go out each day. I just wanted her to call me more, sound excited when I called, and help me to feel that she was interested in me. 

Later, I would later find out from Lynn that initially, for a little while, I was more interested in spending time with her every day than vice versa. 

That would change.

When I recount stories like this to people, these days, they seem to comment from the perspective of how things normally work when a guy and a girl are dating. For example, I was talking to a female friend of mine and she said something along the lines of "a woman wants a guy to..." I try to explain that I am not like most guys. I don't think Lynn wanted a "traditional guy."

Growing Comfortable Together and Serenity

I don't know when it happened exactly, but it seemed like things were going more easily for me. with Lynn. I didn't feel like I had to try as hard to persuade her to spend time with me. I could tell she was becoming genuinely interested in me. This is what I "felt" or "sensed" – how exactly, I can't say.

She smiled when we were together. It seemed that her mother was noticing this too.

One day, it felt so natural to bring my camera over and photograph her on the back porch where she was living. She sat on the railing, her head against the corner board with the setting sun reflected off the marshlands behind her home. Her mother was in the other room and she seemed to me to be happy. That felt good. It suggested I was being discussed.

Lynn was so amazingly beautiful in my mind's eye. I saw her there posing for me... one soft and beautiful leg raised with her head against the corner railing of the porch... the sun reflecting off the water on the marshlands behind her home. 

Boats would sometimes ride up and down the marshland waterway. This was somewhere between the intercoastal and the ocean. Today was quiet and serene as I photographed her.

Discussing my future plans...

I was glad that I had someone with whom I could talk about my dreams and plans for the future. I needed that. Yes, we talked about Lynn's interests, but I am reflecting on my need for confirmation of my plans. I had been moving forward with my career plans.

It was a major change in my career from engineering to psychiatric social work. I needed someone to bounce ideas off, to assure me that I could accomplish what I wanted to accomplish... that I was healthy and competent.

I was glad to be receiving the validation I needed about my career plans from Lynn. She was intelligent and someone I respected. She listened and asked questions. When I talked about what I specifically had in mind for starting graduate school, for example, she was very supportive. That included my plan for how I would pay for graduate school.

Lynn knew I was eager to start to move forward with my plans and she encouraged me to do that.

I knew the contract job with Corning was ending soon. Somehow things still seemed okay. I'd figure things out.

An epiphany

It was September 2, 1992, when I had this peak experience, an epiphany.

We came to Wrightsville Beach, after my work at Corning. It was evening and we sat down together near Johnnie Mercer's Pier. The sun was still above the horizon and behind us.

I liked this feeling. It was peaceful. I NEEDED to feel this.

It seemed like all the time, my mind was so busy trying to figure things... Always, worried about impending problems - a job ending, where I would work next, how I would get into graduate school. 

Something inside myself told me to enjoy this moment. To be here now and forget about everything else.

It was the clearest thought that I have known... I felt serenity. My eyes moved between looking at Lynn and watching the waves coming and going. I wasn't trying at this moment to work through my plans with Lynn's support and advice. I was just at peace.

For Lynn, this was just another day at the beach.

I was excited to be able to hold her hand and walk north down the beach at Wrightsville Beach... aroused. It seemed so right. Sometimes I wondered why I was the one asking for her hand when we were walking together. Maybe other people don't ask themselves questions like that, but I wanted to be sure that she was into me and wanted that contact with me.

I liked being seen with her. I felt special. I liked that she was so glad to see me.

Lynn was into pottery and I would show up at the Art Center to pick her up. I wanted to know and celebrate everything about her.

She would show me around the place. She would show me her work on the different shelves in various rooms. She showed me the kiln which is used to bake the clay after it is shaped. Sometimes I would sit and watch her shape earrings or work with clay on the wheel.

The wheel is used for larger items. It does just what you would expect, it spins the clay around a center. Lynn explained that some of the bigger items on the shelves were too big and heavy for her to do. She was almost my height. I'm five foot seven and she was about five foot six. But she was much smaller than me and thin. Healthy looking but thin – yes, I noticed and can add that she was shapely.

I cannot remember how she introduced me that first year. I'll explain what I mean later but you might recall that after the first date on the 4th of July, she said to her co-worker who asked if I was her boyfriend, "no, we're just friends."

Yes, we were becoming an item. Yet, the word boyfriend or girlfriend had not been used, yet. I reflected on all of this and felt that everything was absolutely amazing to me.

The First Kiss

There was the synchronicity of desires. It was October. What we did when we were together was not something discussed or planned. I mean so far, we had not been talking about what anything means. I can't speak for what was going through her mind but while I might have had a desire that she take my hand first when we went for a while, I didn't say "why don't you do reach for my hand first."

I suppose I was more impulsive. I don't know but somewhere I got the notion that typically guys make the first move and call girls, ask them out. This did not apply to our relationship. Lynn was self-confident enough to speak her mind. She recognized my more feminine traits – not that I looked effeminate but I mean in terms of how I acted.

We were just sitting together on the beach in October, and we knew what we wanted. I looked into her eyes. I was sitting on her right. I could feel where our arms touched, our sides and legs.

I moved toward her instinctually and without hesitation or fear. Her head was tilted slightly back and turned a bit to the right as my face tilted to the right. Her blond hair waved a bit in the gentle wind. I reached my arm over onto the sand, then brought my lips to hers.

My left arm moved over her right shoulder and onto her back. I felt her right arm move to my back as she leaned forward. My right arm moved to her back. Our lips parted ever so slightly as we kissed.

I was only minimally aware of others on the beach. It was more as if I was aware of where we were and that it was not dark yet. 

We were not that far from Johnnie Mercer's Pier. We had not gone looking for privacy.

It seems that we were communicating something for which there were no thoughts or words... It was as if we had discovered a new way to communicate. Feelings, passions, desires. Inescapable, undeniable, and so right.

This was a new aspect of our relationship. I imagine she and I hungered for this as much as she desperately needed air in her lungs.  

In the last chapter, I told you about the joy I found in finding someone to love and someone who loved me. I told you about the experiences I had, and I hope it was clear just how meaningful this was in my life's trajectory. It was so important to present the profound and positive impact this had on my life.

This was life-altering.

The experiences I had growing up, in my home environment were toxic to the development of the kind of self-confidence and self-worth that I would need to achieve my career goals. Something had been missing despite all the improvements I had made in my sense of worth.

It's hard to know what you need to overcome a problem that has existed throughout your life. My therapist or counselor in college was very talented, competent, and profoundly helpful. However, we failed to fully appreciate all the negative impacts of abuse and devaluation that I had experienced in my home life from my parents.

Then I met Celta, and something happened. She seemed to delight in me. She was so interested in my experiences. She also was concerned about my well-being and happiness. I knew she was thinking about me for most of the day each and every day! Her diary-style, stream of consciousness letters told me this.

I knew she was thinking about me for so much of her day, each and every day, because of the letters she wrote to me - her diary of sorts composed with me in mind as someone she wanted to share her life with. I had realized that I previously thought that I was not that important to anyone. This is what I meant by seeking a relationship with some aspect of exclusivity or the idea that I could be the most important person to someone.

I knew that I was the only one that Celta loved the way she loved me. Previously, I had friends, but they all had a boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse or the relationship wasn't as close.

After I was with Celta, I felt like I was ten feet tall... confident... worthwhile, and deserving. My self-esteem was higher than it had ever been in my life. I also felt safe trying new things. This idea might seem unexpected. She was just a small girl (woman). I sensed that she deeply cared about me and thought about me and that was transformative.

It's important to underscore these important points before I move on with this story.

When I say that our relationship was platonic, I mean that we were not boyfriend and girlfriend. We didn't have a physical relationship. That being said, we did exchange "I love you" on a daily basis or whenever we talked on the phone or saw each other. We were close and perhaps somewhat intimate and physical but not in a sexual way.

Late in December, something happened. I had moved to kiss her as I was leaving. It was impulsive. Her lips were so thin that I didn't feel what I imagined I would feel. This was my first kiss. I felt confused. She had not turned away or signaled in any way that she didn't want me to proceed. So, why was I uncertain? I didn't have to be shy with Celta. But I didn't want to use her for my own personal "experience."

I would play this back in my mind as I drove away. Yes, I wanted to kiss her. Having decided now for sure what I wanted, next time I would kiss her.

Sometime later I pictured my face turning to the right and moving closer to her as she moved toward me. I had been in sync with her and felt so comfortable. I knew that she might have said that one time that she was not in love but when we were together there were so many times when she had that look of someone who was so happy, comfortable and it sure looked like she was in love. Well, she definitely had "romantic" feelings.

Also, when I was with her, I could see myself and my feelings. You just know those things. There were so many subtle behavioral cues that told me what she was feeling and how she was responding to my touches... how I held her... where I touched her. Everything had been welcomed. I played back memories of how when I touched her she moved closer to me.

As I replayed the imagined kiss – next time - I would begin to tilt my head to the right, bend down, she would be acting on instinct, without taking the time to over-think it – that's what I would do, and she was my mirror. Sometimes we do things as if the moment is such that it is inevitable. She would move to meet my lips... she would be transfixed upon my eyes and I hers. I felt excited as I replayed this in my mind.

It was as if it had happened already, almost.

It would never happen.

On New Year's Day of 1991, I got the worst news of my life. A phone call. I was in my room on the second floor of the house owned by my parents. "Celta died last night," I was told.

"How?" I asked as if this wasn't possible or real. I was stunned. I wanted my willpower to make it not real!

"There was a fire... she died from smoke inhalation." It started from an exposed electrical cord on a TV.

My mind registered information about the funeral, its location, and time but I could not find the words to begin to convey any sense of what I was feeling. I had spoken a few times to the man previously. He was a friend of the family. Tears were flooding my eyes. I just said, "Okay, I'll be there but I can't talk..." my voice breaking. I needed the family to expect me.

I dropped the phone and began to cry so bitterly.

I hurt so much!

I cried so much as I drove the way to the funeral. Just before the funeral, I looked at the closed casket and was overcome. Someone was standing by it and for a brief second, some part of me wanted to open the casket and find out that it wasn't Celta that was inside.

At the funeral, I cried more than everyone else combined. I didn't care how I looked.

It was at the Episcopalian church where I went with Celta and where I would sit down next to Celta's mother and Celta. I was still Christian, meaning I went to church on a regular basis.

Standing outside after the funeral people were talking. I was looking at the closed casket unable to believe this was real. I was still crying. Celta's mother instructed me not to come to the burial. She could tell that I was not going to make it through that event. My state of mind was such that I needed to be told what I should do now.

At the burial the one person who loved Celta most, who felt a visceral sense of grief above and beyond that felt by the others... that one person would be missing. I would not be there. I had followed the directions of Celta's mother and left Athens (Athens Georgia).

I certainly felt betrayed and abandoned by God. However, I did go to grief counseling at the Catholic hospital in Augusta, Georgia. A nun was leading a grief counseling group – spiritual counseling. She was using guided imagery, relaxation techniques, prayer, and biblical references. I met with her a few times and asked for tape recordings of the sessions.

In the group sessions, she spoke about the stages of grief. We were encouraged to bring in things that were mementos of our experience with our loved ones. I listened intently as others spoke. I was by far the youngest. I had studied the grief process in a psychology class at Georgia Tech. I read some more about this from a "clinical" standpoint. I was keeping reality at a distance.

I was in denial at times and at other times I would be overwhelmed with the idea of not being able to see Celta ever again and I would cry and cry.

So much is strange about this time period. The struggles with my parents were never intentionally instigated by me out of anger for anything. They just seemed uninterested in me and my life, other than to tell me what I ought to do.

I suppose I wanted to share the fact that someone had loved me to explain what had changed. It was surreal that there was such denial that anything had happened or changed. I might be in denial as a symptom of grief but I wanted to celebrate the relationship that I had. Where would I begin?

To cope with the tragic loss, I started drinking. A lot.
 

I was put on a tricyclic anti-depressant by a psychiatrist. I had developed panic attacks as well. The anti-depressant had the effect of creating a sense of positive feelings even with my mother standing there one morning ironing something for work with my father getting ready too. Those fake feelings were only transitory. It is reminiscent of the song by REM titled "It's the end of the world as we know it."... and I feel fine. I guess I felt "high."

The days flowed around me like a mystical experience in which I flowed in and out of my body. I wasn't fully alive or so it seemed... betrayed even by God.

It was all a blur. My entire existence.

Somehow, I did get a job finally that could have made my parents satisfied. Everything was always about them. They never asked about anything that was happening to me. So, they never inquired about why I was going for grief counseling because they had no knowledge of this.

Anyway, I got a job at the National Science Foundation as a contractor. I was developing a network for the museum and that involved network programming in the C programming language. I was a software engineer. I did accomplish a great deal in that job capacity and my supervisor was very impressed with my talents.

Again, this was not at all interesting to me. Yet, I was making sure that I successfully met all deadlines and deliverables.

I vaguely remember a summer trip to Las Vegas. The company paid for this to cover some training related to my work. It was amazing. I had this incredible per-diem rate where I was paid my salary plus extra money for expenses that exceeded the cost of the hotel room.

Vegas was probably the worst place for me to go with so much free cash and free drinks in the casinos. Somehow, I made all the presentations for the training that I was sent there to attend. In the evenings and free time, I hit the casinos and made some decent money. Nothing to write home about. Gin or vodka was an escape but somehow, I didn't drink so much so as to get sick at night or even the next day.

As I try to write this now, I have only momentary snapshots with no full-running narrative memory. Just random disconnected sensations. My hands were unable to touch the leather inside a car. The sun shimmers on the pavement. Casinos. Drinks. Sitting at a poker table. Pulling a lever on a slot machine.

I must have done what was expected of me. I don't remember any complaints from my boss.

Yeah, I moved through time like a robot.

The job was going well, as I said. I was proud of how well I was doing.

I was drinking more and more during this time period after the trip to Las Vegas. Everything except beer. Vodka with tonic or orange juice. Gin and tonic. Whiskey with ice, water, or coke. Not so much wine.

I was passing out and once or twice I would puke. I really hated throwing up, always.

I did meet this girl from the home office of the company that was paying me. She lived in Alabama and I was in Augusta, Georgia and we decided to meet in Atlanta, Georgia where I had graduated not long before that.

My supervisor was joking that I had "jungle fever" because I was a white guy who was going to date a black woman. He was black, as well. I didn't let that bother me. Spike Lee's film "Jungle Fever" had been out, and it was an important film. I have always been fine with having a conversation about race if that was something that was desired.

My mother actually asked about my date. I suppose her name sounded ethnic and my mother asked about that guessing that she might be Italian. I said, "no, she's black."

I remember that this was the first time I kissed anyone other than a brief kiss that Celta and I shared back in December of the last year. I mentioned that above.

This was extremely passionate. She brought her kid and left him in the car and parked near the Student Center - the same building where I worked on the bottom floor in the post office.

We were looking for someplace to sit or be as private as possible outside after dark. I remember making out at a few locations here and there. I could feel her large breasts against me, and I was aroused.

My first passionate kiss. Before Lynn. We'll get to that later.

Did I feel guilty about dating so soon after Celta? Maybe. But I wasn't actually feeling nor was I "aware" during this time period. I was so numb that I needed to feel something. To wake up! I was trying so hard to wake up. The tricyclic antidepressant made me feel good for a few moments. That didn't make it a meaningful experience.

Then later there was the fact that she said in December that she loved me but wasn't in love with me. I had only known her for one year, from January through December 31 or 1990. I do know that countless times she had that look like someone in love when she looked in my eyes. I was fairly certain she was trying to protect me from being hurt. But I never got a chance to ask her.

And that kiss? I had stopped, not her. It was my first time kissing anyone and I should have been aware that her lips were so small that if I didn't feel anything at first I should wait or stay there. I was always comfortable with Celta. She had never rejected any of my touches.

My mother had made me feel so not okay and so had my father somewhat. This "date" was a way to get out of the home and to appear normal to my mother. If I was going out with someone from the company that employed my services, it made me appear less worthy of the criticism I had been getting from my parents. That's how I figured it. It was an escape.

Some people with Borderline Personality Disorder or trauma disorders will cut their own skin with razors or something sharp just to feel something. The date was something like that.

There wasn't a second date. I had expressed my concerns about pre-marital sex. We weren't even in a committed relationship. I drove to Atlanta to meet her for a second date, but she never showed. I was frustrated out of embarrassment. Then I just forgot the entire matter by the next day and never thought about the matter further.

The various medications and the alcohol impeded grieving and dare I say reality testing. People who are grieving are in such a state of denial that it is almost like a temporary psychosis. From what I was reading and hearing in the stories of grief that I studied, "normal," healthy people did for a while embrace denial to such an extent that it bordered on delusional thinking.

The loss of Celta could not be washed away with alcohol, grief counseling, or an intimate date.

Poetry as an outlet...

I can thank my mother for introducing me to Martin Kirby, who went to our church and he was a professor of English Literature and related subjects at a college in Augusta, Georgia. He would become my writing/poetry mentor.
 

I would show up on a regular basis for poetry readings where I shared my poetry and got feedback, advice, and guidance on writing good poetry. He also heard me write about my experiences with Celta and listened to my experiences. This was very helpful because I had no other outlet for this or place to talk about Celta and my relationship with her.

He said he thought it would take about 10 years for me to be able to write good poetry about Celta because the feelings were too raw.

I was living in a difficult environment with my parents. I was dealing with a major tragedy and yet the name Celta wasn't even being mentioned.

Between drinking, the different medications I was put on, and the panic attacks, I had to go to the Emergency Room (ER) on two occasions.

The psychiatrist tried me on a major tranquilizer, and I had these horrifying muscle spasms that twisted my body up into contortions that made me think my bones were going to be broken in my neck and elsewhere. The doctor said that in higher doses the drug is used for psychotic disorders but somehow it would help with my depression, I guess. That was the reason I was taken to the ER once. My father took me.

Another time I had a panic attack and again my father took me to the ER. It's strange that they weren't asking why all this was happening. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. NEVER!

The only ones listening to my stories about Celta were Martin Kirby and his wife as well as the attendees at the grief support group. Again, my parents were not interested to learn anything about this matter. They never seemed to have any awareness that I was even going to grief counseling.

This is so utterly astonishing! I had not deliberately been trying to keep everything a secret about what was going on with me. On the contrary, I looked for an opening to discuss the matter. I wanted to repair and improve the relationship. I wanted to share the fact that I had found someone who loved me.

With all this going on, all the problems I was having, I began to doubt that I could achieve my goals in life, my career goals. I wondered how I could help others when I had so many problems myself.

It should be noted that while I was put on a major tranquilizer, my psychiatrist NEVER said he thought I was psychotic. We knew I had problems coping with overwhelming stressors.

After the job with the National Science Foundation ended, another opportunity presented itself in March of 1992. I was offered a job in Wilmington, North Carolina, to work with Corning as a Technical Writer. They wanted someone with a technical background.

This would change everything. I was about to be on my own again. Finally!

My perception that I had long-term "problems" would disappear as if by magic, literally - it was unbelievable. My problem had been living in a toxic environment and that was complicated by the grief and the effort I had made to ignore, suppress, or deny the natural process.

My own doubts about my ability to achieve my career goals in life were contributing to the problems I was having.

It's hard to believe that I had only known Celta for one year – the year 1990 and when that year ended, so had Celta's life.

The tragic loss of Celta did not erase the positive impact she had on my life. There were other positive experiences during this time. I had become more confident.

I had been writing poetry about the experiences I had with Celta and I wanted to share that with others. I had been sharing that with Martin Kirby my poetry mentor but now I wanted to share this with others. It was so important and meaningful!

There is something that is so very profound about this story. I honestly never knew anyone who was so interested in me and no one had made me so happy. This is an observation I was making as the story moves into April of 1990.

As I mentioned at the end of the last chapter, things got better after she settled into an apartment in Athens. Something amazing was happening because she had been living a life previously that threatened her health and was characterized by excessive drinking. Her weight had been so low that it threatened her life. I can discern these facts. 

What was different now? Our connection had undeniably made a difference. 

I knew my parents were extremely judgmental of others. So, I was keeping this relationship to myself. I had enough to deal with when it came to them without getting into a fight if they said anything derogatory. Still, their lack of curiosity was strange.

I was calling Celta every night. We talked for at least an hour. At some point in May, I started telling Celta "I love you" every time we spoke. Just as I was saying goodbye with a promise to call the next day and she would answer, "I love you too." I felt butterflies in my stomach. After I put the phone down, I would look up at the ceiling with a smile on my face.

Most of the time I came on Sundays. She had suggested the Botanical Gardens in Athens. They had a flower bed in front of the main building. In April the pansies were in bloom. I was looking at them holding Celta's hand as we imagined what kind of expression they had on their yellow or violet faces.

Inside the building, they had exotic plants with different names. Some were trees with variously shaped green leaves. A wide range of flowers. Some of the trees sprouted flowers as well. There was a restaurant upstairs and another downstairs. It always seemed too quiet, and Celta didn't even mention eating there. We would walk around the grounds most of the time. They had paths or trails with various plants labeled along the way. Along the parking lot, there was a place that was slightly woodsy.

During this time, when we were apart, she continued to compose hand-written letters to me, and we found things to talk about on the phone every day.

I would treasure those letters. Her letters made me feel like I was with her even when we were apart. I would read them again and again. There is something magical about a person sharing their most intimate thoughts and observations in real-time, uncensored - a stream of consciousness observation.

"I think it is amazing," I said to Celta.

"What?"

"Well, your letters to me are about your experiences and observations. Yet they feel like gifts to me. I used to think that we should not just talk about ourselves and our own feelings. That's not true."

During this time, I would often go to the Catholic Church with my parents and my brother on Saturday evenings. Then I would drive to Athens on Sunday.

Celta started going to the AA – alcoholics anonymous – meetings in the mornings. I thought that her anorexia and the psychological were equally serious, but I was too new in the psychiatric field to know what would be best for her. She told me to come with her.

I said, "are you sure I can?"

"Yes, it's an open meeting."

"Okay."

I sat there holding her hand... occasionally looking around... often my eyes rested on her while she seemed to be listening.

Just before the end of the meeting she gestured to get up and said we can go now. She had told me her religion was Episcopalian which is similar to Catholicism which I had known. As we got up and started walking out the front door away from where we parked and toward the church, holding hands, I felt ten feet tall, that feeling I would have with her.

Sometimes we showed up a bit early and stood outside where they had the meetings. We stood there, arms around each other, looking at each other, lost in words, dreams, and our own world.

One time I stepped away to use a restroom that was in another area and some people were talking. Some of the literature caught my eye. I was feeling a bit out of place though. A guy and a woman approached me. "I'm Linda," said the woman. The guy said, "Oh, you're Celta's boyfriend."

Without a second thought, I just said "Yes," and said we are going to church now. I had not even thought about what I had just said until later and it just brought a smile to my face when I reflected upon the moment. For some reason, I didn't mention that to Celta.

I walked upstairs and found Celta standing by herself in the hallway. I smiled and wrapped the fingers of my right hand into the fingers on her left hand and we walked toward the doorway passing others who were congregating. It felt like a formal procession. That's why they assumed we were boyfriend and girlfriend. What else would one think?

On this occasion, after the meeting ended, we walked toward the front door our fingers intertwined. I opened the doors for both of us hearing the lyrics from the song "Miracles" by Jefferson Starship drifting through my mind. What is so profound about this song is that there is a very sensual and sexual nature to the song in places and yet that never happened with Celta and me. But the lyrics that repeat, "love you so, love you so," were words that I would have communicated to Celta. Anyway, as I remember this the lyrics continue as follows:  

If only you believe in
miracles, baby
so would I
{pause}

I might have to move
heaven and earth to prove
it to you, baby

We walked like this the short distance to the church. I spotted Faye, Celta's mother and we walked there. I slid down the row and next to her mother with Celta on my right – me in the middle. No one gestured for Celta to sit in the middle next to her mother.

On another visit, Celta mentioned that she had met a guy named David at one of the AA meetings and asked if we could visit him. I took it like she was reaching out to help someone like I might do the same. He was staying in a residential facility for people with alcohol problems.

When we got there, I noticed the long entrance roadway into the place. It was a nice summer day with the green grass flowing over a gentle hill.

"Were you here before?" I asked her.

"A couple of years ago for about a month."

We found David and decided to walk a bit toward a shaded area. I reached for Celta's left hand and she took my hand. I guess I felt a little jealous. She looked at me and just smiled. I managed a smile back.

There was another visit where Celta asked to visit David again. I couldn't let her down, but I wanted my time with her. No, she wasn't looking at David like she looked at me. I was a bit surprised at my feelings. I was slightly upset but didn't say anything. As I took her hand we walked a bit and then she reached out to take David's hand too with a playful childlike look on her face.

We were near a swing set. "Have a seat, I'll push you," I said.

I pulled her forward a bit and pushed her back.

David started to talk about something then his voice trailed off.

I was pushing Celta away and she would return. Not too far, just past the triangular poles of the swing set. Her brown hair caught the sun at the farthest crest – just to the right of her head. Everything was quiet. Our eyes were locked. She smiled that look that said she was happy to be with me. I mouthed the words "I love you" silently, and she smiled, in a rhythm with the swing, as she was closest.

It was hypnotic. We breathed with each cycle of her moving toward me and then away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed David shift a bit almost restless. I then felt bad for him. Celta had not averted her gaze from me. She seemed content.

After another few moments, I noticed she was wanting to swing higher. I wondered, "could she fall?" and then gently caught her legs and said, "what if you fall?"

She just smiled.

"It's getting late," I said.

On another visit, we went to a zoo that was near the Botanical Gardens. They had some black bears, a few monkeys, a few wolves, foxes, a bobcat, snakes, turkeys, dear – not in the same enclosure, of course. It was called Bear Hollow Zoo.

I told Celta that this felt like I was going on a vacation when I came. An escape. A getaway – that's a good word.

I got to meet her father too. He was nice and he took some photos of us.

The time I spent with Celta seemed to sustain me through the workweek.

I have no idea why but there was a period of just over a week in early September where she had another drinking binge. I wasn't mad, I was mystified by what happened.

Then things seemed normal again with our relationship. I felt comfortable with her.

It seemed like she picked up on my feelings around this time and the sense that I was hurt and scared. It wasn't like she intended any harm to me. If she had this problem for all these years and it had been so troublesome to everyone, what was different now?

She seemed a bit off the next time I saw her. I guess it was like she felt shame for her problems and the impact they might have on me. I had mentioned previously how someone who knew the family told me that Celta was just a user and manipulator. Those are words I knew that people say to people like Celta hoping to motivate them to change.

But she was beating her problems.

When she had been in the psychiatric hospital, I remember they said they worried that if she died within 30 days of her release, they would be libel. So, it seemed like she had to gain a certain amount of weight. It seemed like they then changed their mind and decided that they can't keep her forever. It had been a grim prognosis and it offended me. But she had lasted all these months and seemed okay despite being so thin.

It felt like love had saved her – not just my love for her but her love for me – our mutual love.

We began talking about our relationship and the nature of the relationship. She had this pensive look on her face as if she was remembering something as she looked away, out the window. Then she said, "I love you, but I am not in love."

"Okay, because... I don't know either what we have." I answered. "And..." I started to say something. "I don't know what to say. I haven't thought about things like this before."

It was a late summer day in September. What was my question way back when she had looked up at the TV and saw a video of the song "I don't know much, but I know I love you?"

Nothing had changed in the following weeks when I saw her. For example, the following week I came and at one point she took a seat on her bed and I looked down at her smiling with a feeling of joy almost bordering on amusement as I looked into her eyes. She was looking up and she had a look on her face like she was in love or delighted by something. I want to say she had a look that conveyed a sense of some "hunger", but she was just looking.

When I sat down next to her on her bed, I was on her left and I touched her right leg. I was thinking that I wanted to be closer, to feel her body next to mine. She moved her legs over mine. My hand rested against her lower back. Her arms went around me.

I felt peaceful, serene. Nothing was said. We just smiled at one another. I could feel every place where our bodies touched. It wasn't exciting but peaceful. I could feel a tingling feeling and chills. Slow and repeated like some wave.

I felt peaceful, serene. Nothing was said. We just smiled at one another. I could feel every place where our bodies touched. It wasn't exciting but peaceful. I could feel a tingling feeling and chills. Slow and repeated like some wave.

The fall moved into the Georgia area and the air-cooled. The leaves were falling off the trees.

We came to the place where the pathway met the parking lot. I looked up to an area in the trees. I was thinking that it was cool enough that there wouldn't be any snakes. I gestured to the left. "Up there, it will be a little private for us." I said adding, "I don't want to be disturbed by the others.

I was telling her what to me didn't sound very exciting - just something about where I used to go hiking when I was growing up. This somewhat reminded me of that. We had woods behind our house where we lived when I was growing up. I was saying that just behind our house the woods didn't go very deep. We were unpacking the food we brought.

I looked up and she seemed transfixed with her full and complete attention on me.

Wow! I almost wanted to ask, "what do you see in me that is so interesting or exciting?" but that didn't seem necessary with Celta or maybe it didn't seem appropriate to me. We had a connection. Wow! What was it that was happening? I had never noticed anyone so interested in me. It was almost as if I had hypnotized her.

Later, I would think, "that was a moment I should capture in a poem."

How did holding hands feel so special? Or her listening to me with interest? Or how can non-sexual touching feel so powerful?

Moments later we were walking hand-in-hand. My mind drifted to the various feelings that I had. Sometimes I had felt peace, calmness, serenity. Other times I felt excited or aroused. That's hard to talk about because I had not even been in the habit of talking about those things with myself.

We would exist in a place of tranquility, peace, and serenity. I tell her, "I can just stay here with you forever."

I left out some details about what had happened when Celta left the hospital. In this chapter, we'll rewind the clock and review some things that I left out.

Celta had a problem with alcohol addiction as well as having anorexia. To a layperson, the word would be alcoholic. When we went to AA later people said "Hi, I'm Bill and I'm an alcoholic."

I like the term "Alcohol Use Disorder" better since I am going into the psychiatric field and I prefer more scientific. At this time in the 90s, we used the terms Alcohol Addiction and Alcohol Dependence.

Celta had been in the hospital because her weight was dangerously low, and they had to get her to a weight where she wouldn't die within the first thirty days of release from the hospital. Yes, they said that to me.

It was March when she got out of the hospital. I found her intoxicated in a single-room apartment to which she had been released. Her father had left her some money to get started. I couldn't understand the situation. I had bought her a pretty short sleeve shirt with a picture of a cat on it. It was like having a girlfriend to be doing this. She had still been in the hospital when I brought it to her. She had liked it.

Now, seeing her like this, intoxicated, I felt so overwhelmed and frustrated. I pulled out that shirt that I had bought for her because it made her smile. I said, "remember this?" I left the shirt draped over the dresser so she would see it when she did get up.

I had been seeing her every day when she was in the hospital. Now, I wondered if I would find her sober when I showed up.

Again, this was not a conventional relationship.

I was somewhat concerned that my supervisors on the social work team might think I was doing something wrong. I was still new to the field and had not had any specific education that touched on professional ethics. Later in my career journey, I would have avoided this probably. I had told Celta early on that I was not meeting with her as part of the staff. I had always told her that we were friends. If someone had asked me, I would have explained this.

It just had felt like an unusual way to develop a relationship and indeed it had been. Plus, she smoked and normally that would not be attractive at all to me. I hope you understand, dear reader, that I do not judge people based on external characteristics, like physical attractiveness. Despite that, her very low weight did frighten me. She was four foot eleven and weighed about 60 pounds. That is extreme anorexia. This meant that she was all skin and bones.

This is hard to discuss because I know that for a person with anorexia, talking about how thin they are can trigger very negative emotions. I so much want you, dear reader, to know how much I respected Celta and loved her. 

I could see and feel her bones when I held her. Her heart was still beating. When we had been close, I would feel a tingling feeling. If I was sitting next to her, I felt it at the point of contact of our legs, hands, and arms. It felt like a current flowing through me and her. It was almost as if the pulsating beats of our hearts were synchronized and felt everywhere our bodies made contact.

Now, I was so sad. I wanted her to be with me. I told her I would be back the next day. I had gone and bought some food from a Subway fast-food restaurant. I thought I knew what she would like.

When I came back, she seemed so bad. She was passed out. She said she had to leave the apartment because she couldn't pay the rent. I had no clarity of mind to problem solve the situation. I took her to the hospital – a regular hospital not where she had been - because of her weight and condition.

After she was put in a room I left for a little while and headed home. I had to think of something. It seemed like she would be okay at the emergency room for a little while.

I got a call and was told to pick her up. They said they couldn't keep her overnight. I felt my voice assume a voice that was like pleading, and I asked for a little more time and said, "what can I do?"

They said, "we are not responsible for her."

I had been working on jobs – everything from being a busboy to a waiter. My parents made sure to add to my level of shame for not working as an engineer. It was reprehensible. I would have done anything to get a job that would pay me enough to not need them for anything. For anyone to believe that I was stubbornly choosing to not work as an engineer, that person surely must not be a rational person.

I hated them but I had to act cordial and see if I could shake that feeling. Yeah, I hate to say that and I only mean to convey what I felt at the time but I didn't tell out of respect and fear.

Many people overuse the word hate. In my experience as a therapist, it is rarely something that people admit to feeling. It's what you feel when you are exposed to something noxious, or repulsive! That is precisely what I mean when I say that I hated them! I found them repulsive!

She didn't have an apartment and I didn't know what to do when the hospital said that she had to leave. So, I decided to take Celta to a motel in Augusta.

She was sober now. We spoke for some time.

She said jokingly, "you can say that you spent the night with a woman finally."

We had not "slept together" as they say. This day didn't even allow for cuddling.

I said, "I better get home, my parents think I am working. It's weird how Mom suddenly wants me to be around her while I live there. Growing up this was never an issue. Now because I moved in with them, they want to SEE me. I can't say I don't want to SEE you to Mom."

It felt good to laugh about this. We had talked about this unusual situation and would continue to do that. My self-esteem was being dragged down due to the emotional and psychological abuse and so I wanted to avoid my mother as much as possible. My father was more tolerable, but he still went along with and supported my mother's point of view.

The next day I showed up at the hotel and her room. She wasn't in. I walked around frantically looking for her. A light rain was falling. This place didn't look too inviting in the day, as they had not kept up the place too well. I passed people as I looked and listened in the rooms nearby. I was never nosy, but I was feeling desperate.

"Have you seen a small woman?" first upfront at the reception desk and then I asked some people who were walking around.

No one was very helpful.

I walked around the front which faced the highway. I fell to my knees, more like collapsing than praying. Then I said in a voice that was audible but not loud, "Please, please help me."

I walked back around and spotted someone who I had seen earlier. "You are looking for a small woman?" a woman said.

"Yes."

"Come this way. I think she went in a room over here."

We knocked on a door. I saw her in a bed with some guy without her clothes on. What had he done to her? What happened? I could see beer bottles. I must have looked pitiful.

I registered voices saying, "nothing happened, she passed out here." ... "She had been looking for something to drink."

I'm thinking "does she look like someone who should be drinking?" and "what kind of guy is this to take advantage of her?"

I looked away as she dressed. She had looked so boney that she looked extremely unhealthy. At that moment I had a mixture of confusing feelings. I had had romantic and intimate feelings for Celta and I loved her. But seeing her like this was not attractive to me. My reaction around her when I noticed how thin she was from time to time felt embarrassing and confusing. Maybe it was more like I feared for her health than that I was repulsed by her appearance.

Back in her room, I told her that I didn't know what to do. She said her mother lives in Athens, and I said I would take her there. It was about an hour and a half away. We weren't sure that her mother would take her, but I felt like we had to try. Yes, she knew how to get there. I thought "don't call, just go. Just show up."

We found the house and I knocked on the door. Her mother saw us and said, "she can't stay here."

I looked at her pleadingly. "I... I don't know what to do. I tried other things." Tears were running down my face as I said, "I'm scared."

She opened the door and we entered.

"I'm Bruce."

"I'm Faye." Adding, "we've had problems and fought before." She was small herself but not sickly underweight.

"Thank you for helping. I don't know what to do."

I said goodbye to Celta and said I would be back to see her soon.

Her father had come from out of state and rented an apartment for her. There was one more episode of Celta drinking before things settled into relatively normal life. When I say "normal life" I mean she was not drinking. She had gone on what seemed like a binge of drinking and then stopped. There would be one other episode months later but that was it.

This was when I met a couple that was friends of the family. The woman was the one that told me that Celta cannot love people and that she is a user and a manipulator. She warned me not to be an "enabler."

Indeed, people with substance abuse or use disorders can be like that. They can act like sociopaths where they use people, lie, manipulate others, and might appear to act like they don't have morals. However, I am a bright person, and I am observant when it comes to the actions and intentions of others. Celta was never asking me to do things that I didn't want to do. In fact, I could tell that she was genuinely concerned about how I felt, and she was extremely concerned about my happiness.

Things were about to become more normal shortly after Celta got settled into an apartment in Athens, Georgia. 

I'll pick up this story in the next chapter where the love story begins to take form and shape.

I recently found a photograph of Celta Camille Head, a high school yearbook photograph through Ancestry.com. I had not known her in high school. In fact, she is 8 years older than me.

In this photograph of her, she is 16. She's thirty-one now when I meet her for the first time.

After I graduated from Georgia Tech, I was feeling good about my career prospects and I had a new direction in life. I had a clear path in front of me. I finally knew what I wanted and how to get where I was going ... or so it seemed upon graduation from Georgia Tech in December of 1989.

The problem was that I chose to move in with my parents after graduation. This would be a decision that haunted me for the rest of my life!

Ironically, just as I somewhat regretted my decision to move in with my parents, knowing how toxic they were, what began in the 90s would make this time period among the best years of my life. I'm talking about the chance I had to meet Celta in 1990. Also, the opportunity that I had to volunteer with the social work team at Georgia Regional Hospital - a state psychiatric hospital was so rewarding. I learned so much and I realized that I have a knack for this kind of work - psychiatric social work.

The work I had done in undergraduate school got me to this point. I knew that I had developed some powerful social and communication skills during my five years of undergraduate studies. I had learned to demonstrate empathy. I had overcome so much of the social anxiety that I had previously.

I want to tell you about someone special that I met.

I knew that some work needed to be done before I could begin to realize my dreams and to find success in my field. I was making a transition from having a degree in engineering to working as a social worker, a psychiatric social worker.

As I was saying, I met Celta in 1990. In an earlier chapter, I stated that I had only one date during my years at Georgia Tech. There was one other time when I went out with a girl who was a cousin of one of my best friends but we had only one date. That was my entire dating experience since I was too shy to date in high school.

I wasn't expecting anything special or amazing to happen in 1990.

I met Celta in an unusual setting. She had been in the hospital when I met her, making this story even more complicated, unexpected, and unplanned. She had anorexia. That is why she was in the hospital for a short while - her weight had gotten dangerously low. She was about four foot eleven and weighed under 60 pounds when I met her. Maybe less!

Even as I write this, I feel a bit uncomfortable mentioning these facts. How can one measure a person or their worth by their weight?

I had a cousin who suffered from anorexia and one of the medical interns mentioned Celta saying that maybe by becoming friends with her I might gain some insight into anorexia. This was different than my usual role as a volunteer with the social work team at the hospital. I will discuss that later.

The idea was that I could be friends with someone, or I could meet with someone as a member of the social work staff. Intuitively I knew that these boundaries are important.

It was Wednesday, January 3, 1990. I walked into a room at the hospital and saw her pacing. She seemed frustrated. I remember how they had dragged her to another building to be weighed. As our eyes met, I could feel a sense of serenity and peace.

This wasn't how I imagined this moment. In my imagination, I had thought about ways I could get to know her and gain some insight into a mysterious disorder called anorexia. I had not been assigned to do a social work assessment on her so I wasn't approaching her in that capacity.

At this moment, I did not feel any sense of pressure to make an excuse to talk to her. My mind was at peace. What was it that I felt?

A smile washed across her face as if it hasn't been there in a long time. Maybe this was my own impression of what life must have been like for her for a long time. I wondered what she was thinking as I moved toward her.

"Hi, I'm Bruce," I said, "I am a volunteer with the social work team, but I am finished with that for the day. I wanted to meet you."

"Hi," she answered. Her smile remained the same. I noticed that she didn't seem to be responding as she usually does when she is approached by members of the staff.

"Can we talk?" I ask her.

"Do you want to go outside?" she asked me.

There was a swing outside where two people can sit together. It reminded me of the one that my grandparents had on their porch.

I realized that at this moment I was not brainstorming or rehearsing things to say as I usually did when I met someone new. For the first time in my life, I was meeting a person and not feeling fearful or timid!

Sitting there on the swing, outside seemed almost like we had privacy, as much as was possible to have when you are out in the open.

I explained that I am not here to gather information. "This isn't my job."

She just smiled.

"You seem almost happy," I said, jokingly.

"I will be here for a while," she said with a bit of a laugh that conveyed a sense of resignation to her situation. She then explained that she had been in the hospital before.

I would visit her almost every day just before she was discharged. We would walk around the grounds and I began to tell her things about myself and my own experiences in life. I think she enjoyed listening to me and sharing even the most mundane events. There was no one else that she described as being part of her life other than a mother and father.

She listened intently... with concern and interest.

Before long she was writing letters - diary entries of everything she observed... the smallest details all laid out for me like some running conversation. Sometimes she mailed the letters to me and other times when I showed up, she gave me the letters.

It did feel a bit awkward because I had not thought that I was coming here to make a friend and I wasn't sure that doing so was okay. I was just starting out in the field. Before long, it seemed like the patients and staff knew we were friends. I was Celta's friend, and I also was part of the social work team/staff. Those were two entirely different roles.

It was March and just two months had passed. "I want to show you something," Celta said, inviting me to walk. "See how they have faces?" she said pointing to some pansies.

I found myself momentarily making out the expressions on the human-like "faces" on the flowers.

On the next few visits, I noticed that the pansies seemed to smile or frown at us as we gazed upon them as if they reflected our feelings that day.

Celta had asked me to draw an image of how I saw her. I laughed and said that I cannot draw, but I asked if I could draw the picture with words. Perhaps she wondered whether I was attracted to her or found her beautiful.

I learned that her name was chosen mainly by her father who was interested in Celtic and Gaelic history. Her sister's name was Gael, as in Gaelic.

She returned to Augusta, Georgia when she was well enough to leave the hospital. Our friendship was growing. Her financial situation was a big problem, and I was worried about her. She was so thin, and I was so worried about her health because it was obvious to me that she was at an unhealthy weight. 

In the next chapter,  I will begin to describe events shortly after she left the hospital.