12:59 p.m. UNKNOWN:I hope you don’t mind I stole your number while you were napping on Monday. I want to see you again soon.
I hesitate with a stupid grin on my face. I want to climb to the rooftop and say YES. Instead, I shut my phone off and get my patient while whisper-shouting at my phone, “Suffer!”
My patient, Ellie Rutherford, sits across from me, cracking her knuckles against her denim covered knees.
Sweet girl. Teenager. Struggles with ADHD and depression. Her parents are divorced. Dad is in San Diego, and she moved here with her mom last summer. She hates it here and resents her mother for uprooting her from her California roots. During the winter months I don’t blame her, but on beautiful June days like this, I’m better at shifting her optimism. Still, being so far from a parent is difficult.
Emotions as a teenager never make sense. It’s even worse when your world gets turned upside down.
“How are you today, Ellie?” I ask.
Tears spill out of her eyes. “I miss my dad a lot today.”
“Want to talk about why you may be feeling so strongly about it today?”
“My family is big and chaotic, and I get overwhelmed. When I’m with my dad, it’s just us. Him and me. And sometimes his girlfriend, but that’s it. With my family, it’s like a bazillion cousins, dozens of aunts and uncles, and more sets of grandparents than I thought was biologically possible!”
She’s half-serious, but still, I stifle my laugh.
“So your anxiety is at an all-time high then?”
She nods.
“Okay. Have you been doing the 5-4-3-2-1 technique?”
She exhales and nods again. “Five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear, two things I can smell, one thing I can taste.”
“Is it helping?”
“Usually, but sometimes I get stuck on how many things I can hear. It’s like the world is so loud and I get overwhelmed, because how can I only isolate three.”
“It takes practice,” I admit, “But let’s go over some coping techniques we’ve discussed prior, okay?”
Her smile is hesitant, but she agrees, and we do.
When her session is over, I meet with a young man named Beckett who also has ADHD and was abused as an infant before he was adopted. Last is Ashlynne, who has dissociative disorder that was triggered by the trauma that happened to her when she was seven.
Her case always drains me, and I cry for a solid five minutes after she leaves. When my tears subside, I guzzle a glass of water, compartmentalize what I just heard, then reread the texts from JP, saving his number as GUY FROM THE PLANE.
Me:Hey, thief. I want to see you again soon too.
I bite my lip hard as I hit send, my stomach in a flurry of emotional butterflies as I await his reply. It comes quickly.
GUY FROM THE PLANE:What are you doing Friday?
Me:Ahhh, Friday. I’m usually tired, researching for my dissertation, ordering pizza, and uncorking a bottle of wine I intend to drink all alone.
GUY FROM THE PLANE:that sounds terrible.
Me:You sound judgmental.
GUY FROM THE PLANE:I’m taking you out.
Me:Take me anywhere I can wear comfortable shoes and eat good food.
GUY FROM THE PLANE:Done. I’ll even let you rest your head on my shoulder if you get tired.
I shift in my chair, fully aware of all the feelings he invokes with such a platonic text. I think a moment before responding...
