Park and I boarded the plane and sat in First class. The seats cost 5k each. We could lie them as flat as a bed which would be helpful for the fifteen-hour flight.
Park got comfortable in her seat. “You missed the private lounge at the terminal.”
“Oh yeah.”
“They served caviar and champagne.”
“Good. They’ll serve some on here for us too.”
She grinned. “All right. I can get used to this.”
As more people boarded the flight, the stewardess handed us champagne.
I grabbed mine and winked at Park. “Not bad at all.”
She took hers and cheered my glass. “To a fun wedding.”
I nodded. “And lots of work getting done.”
Park kept quiet and took a long gulp of her champagne.
I sipped mine and placed it down. “Speaking of work, let’s get some done now.”
Park stirred in her seat and then set her glass down. “I’ll get out my laptop.”
During the beginning of the fifteen-hour ride, we planned out the schedule for next year—fabrics and trims would need to be selected, the delivery of sample garments needed a date, and I wanted to hire a new design team. This year, I decided I would head in a different direction with my brand.
We made more plans. Once I finished next year’s Fall/Winter designs, Park would have to oversee all production on the designs. I walked her through all those duties. She took excellent notes.
Next, there would need to be several flights booked. I had to attend other designers’ fashion shows for support and inspiration. There were also prediction fairs where many forecasted possible future fashion trends. The best happened in London, New York, Paris, and Rome. Park would make all our travel arrangements and schedule my work around international trips.
After a few hours, stress covered Park’s face.
“This is a lot, but you’ll be fine.”
Some designers worked from 9 am to 5 pm. As a self-employed designer, I extended my hours to stay ahead of the competition. That was why once I landed in Finland serious work would need to be done. Although we were in the Winter season, I had to produce Fall concepts, make some sketches, and develop patterns. Fashion was split into four seasons—Spring/Summer, Fall/Winter, Resort, and Pre-Fall. The two major seasons for me were Spring/Summer and Fall/Winter. Spring/Summer started in January and ran until around June. Fall/Winter started in July and ended in December.
By the fourth hour, Park fell asleep in the middle of me talking.
“O-kay.” I shook my head.
Damn. I hope I don’t burn her out too soon. This will be my sixth assistant in five years.
I reached over, saved the work she’d done on the laptop, closed the device, and put it up.
Poor Park. Is she regretting working for me? No. I’m tripping. She’ll be fine.
I placed her laptop in the bag and put it in her compartment.
Sleep well, Park.
I shut off her overhead light and put my laptop up too.
The stewardess came by and kept her voice low. “Do you need anything?”
“I would like rum and coke, please.”
“Coming up.”
I leaned back into my chair but didn’t turn off my overhead light. While it might have been easy for Park to go to sleep this Christmas season, I would not face the same luck. As soon as December rolled in, dreams of my mother always began. Last night, the moment I found her hanging had come to me.
Next would be other nightmares. One year, I had recurring dreams where my mother hammered the rope to the space above the doorway. And I was ten years old again and begging her to stop. But for some reason, a solid, thick glass wall separated us. While I could see her, she could not hear me. And so I watched her kill herself over and over each night.
Pain hit my temples.
I thought I got rid of those damn nightmares.
But how could I get rid of something that had become a part of my life—a part of me? These nightmares had morphed into living beings. Monsters with sharp teeth and claws, gnawing at my soul.
Sometimes the dreams stabbed at me so hard that I woke up paralyzed and unable to speak. Other times, I opened my eyes and cried into my pillow, wishing that I died that Christmas morning and not my mother.
This year was supposed to be different. I spent enough money on therapy to see more change.
I rubbed my forehead.
I’d sought therapy for many years. Nothing helped. One therapist hypnotized me. Another put me on several pills. I took them for many years, developing adverse effects—vomiting, weight gain, diarrhea, and insomnia.
I gave up on that and turned to marijuana and alcohol. That caused me to get behind with my designs. Plus it didn’t help that I was showing up to work, smelling like weed and liquor. One seamstress quit and put a complaint about my drunkenness in her resignation letter.
Due to that, I returned to the pills.
Last Christmas, Holly, her fiancé Nikolas, and her brother Saint, took me down to an Ayahuasca Retreat in Peru.
Ayahuasca was a psychoactive brew made from the leaves of a special shrub from the Amazon Rainforest. Amazonian tribes used the drink for spiritual and religious purposes. Traditionally, a shaman prepared it. DMT was a major component of the drink. The brew was supposed to be powerfully therapeutic. Scientific research proved how Ayahuasca could help many people overcome severe depression, addiction, chronic grief and loss, and other problems. I had to admit that I was pretty excited for it to help.
Once a person drank it, the brew affected their central nervous system, leading to an altered state of consciousness. Many reported hallucinations, out-of-body experiences, and euphoria.
Holly and Nikolas took it. During his Ayahuasca trip, he realized that she was the only person he would ever love. She’d come to the same conclusion from her experience. The next day, Nikolas proposed.
Saint never confessed what enlightenment he’d found. Instead, he remained quiet and continued to ask me how I was.
Dear Saint. Always my protector.
My experience was nowhere as pleasant as theirs. However, I lied and told them all some bullshit about how I was now motivated to make profound changes dealing with health and happiness. Holly and Nikolas were overjoyed. Saint didn’t buy the act, but he left me alone.
I couldn’t depress them after they were trying to help me as usual.
The truth was that when I took the drink, I descended into distress and was lost in a vortex of zombie-like figures. My mother was there in the distance with a rope hanging around her neck and all these bags dangling from the rope. She kept screaming for me to come to her as all the zombies chased me.
And it lasted for hours. Never again would I try something like that.
Weeks later, I battled near-constant anxiety, panic attacks, and insomnia. When I sought a therapist, she explained that while Ayahuasca helped so many, it traumatized a small percentage. For the people that dealt with post-traumatic stress disorder like me, the brew generated extremely strong and fragmenting experiences. I spun into panicky thoughts. Due to that, I went to my usual defensive mechanism, I withdrew, went mute, and numb.
The therapist helped me get rid of the new panic attacks and taught me meditation. That helped me get off my pills. Last month, I’d finally thrown away all my medications and prescriptions.
I thought I was getting better.
Now I’ll have to get back on them. There’s no way I’m going to deal with these damn nightmares this year.