Therapy. It's not the solution but it's a solution, and I owe it to my family and friends to see it through. What happened the night the I went 'missing' set into motion a rollercoaster of events and days followed by no privacy, my dad watching my every move and listening to my every word. He's been on edge, I've been on edge and it's making me claustrophobic.
I've been walking on eggshells in my own home, walking on eggshells in my own body. It's been weeks of me trying to convince them all that I am okay, that I jut had a lapse in judgment but I scared everyone and now they're treating me like a fragile ornament on the verge of shattering. Darrin and I are in a weird space. I don't know what to call the mundane conversations we have daily, the false niceties that have me questioning everything. He came to see me in the hospital a few times but we haven't crossed the threshold back to where we were, we haven't talked about anything as if nothing happened when in fact everything happened. Sometimes I wonder if he only talks to me out of obligation, until I am better, fixed– no longer his problem. I am afraid that once I go to therapy he'll finally wash his hands of me.
When I enter Dr Evans office the first thing I notice is the smell, it's earthy and natural, a thickness floats through the air from a round diffuser puffing out small clouds of mist. The room is bright white, but not the normal stark hospital white. It's a warm brightness that feels serene. The receptionist looks up at me and smiles as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She takes my name and hands me a clipboard full of papers. I sit next to the small fountain trickling over a cliff of rocks and it instantly makes me feel like I have to pee. I fill out the questionnaire as best as I can. I don't know why it is important for them to know if I am pregnant or breastfeeding, I thought I was just here to talk but I happily check off the box that says no.
The receptionist calls me to follow her down a long bright hallway until we stop in front of a door with a gold engraved name plate– Dr. M. Evans PsyD, sounds fancy.
She motions me in, "Dr Evans will be right with you, can I get you something to drink? Water, or we have some peppermint tea we just finished brewing."
"Sure, I will have some tea, thanks."
The tea bag floats to the top of my mug making it impossible to drink and when I do manage to get a small sip I'm reminded of why I love coffee. I politely set the mug on the coaster and nervously glance around the room. There is no big brown desk, or long black leather sofa that I am supposed to lay on while they try to fix me. In fact there is no desk in this room at all. One entire wall is designated to oversized windows paned with light wooden grids, a small white coffee table to center the grey slouchy chairs. I want to escape through the pictures of sandy beaches and calm blue oceans hanging on the walls. I dream of myself running down the dock and cannonballing into the lake. It's easy to imagine the hot sun beaming onto the worn wood, the ripples of its age bending and reaching out from its landscape. I run my hands over it, feeling the bumps and thickness of the paint.
The door opens and a middle-aged woman enters. I just assumed Dr. Evans was a man and I don't know why. I pictured this stuffy person dressed in a suit, polished with overly gelled hair. She is nothing like that. She exudes confidence and calmness in her presence.
"Hi Katy, I'm Dr. Evans but I would like you to call me Miranda, if you're comfortable," she crosses the room sitting across from me in one of the chairs. She has a kind face, something about her soothes me before we've even started and it annoys me.
"So, Katy can you tell me a little bit about yourself?" She says crossing her legs and leaning into the cushion resting behind her back.
"Okay sure," I rub my sweaty hands along my pants, "well, you already know my name," I laugh at myself and she smiles, "I'm seventeen...um, I live at home with my family...I sort of have a boyfriend, or not," she raises an eyebrow, "it's complicated."
BINABASA MO ANG
Before, After & In-between
Teen FictionSeventeen-year-old Katy Stevens eats, sleeps and breathes running. From hobby to high school track star, all of her hard work and training is about to pay off. In only a few short months the scholarship of her dreams awaits her, all she just has to...
