“Think?”
“Yes. Yes, I love him.”
“Hmm,” she stated, scribbling notes on the yellow legal pad she held in her lap.
I stared out the window as she continued writing. My chest felt like there was an elephant sitting on it.
“Thank you for your honesty, Chanel. It seems you’ve experienced a lot in such a short period. Did you ever receive any counseling after the murder of your client?”
“No,” I answered, just above a whisper. I had considered grief counseling immediately after the murders, but eventually forgot about it. The truth was, I’d felt so safe with Xavier and the way he’d taken care of me afterward, I’d convinced myself I didn’t need counseling. Just some time to move past it and I’d be all right.
“And did you ever receive any counseling after you broke up with your fiancé?”
Again, the answer to that question was a resounding, “No.”
She jotted down some more notes. Dr. Winston peered up at me to see me staring down at the pad in her lap.
“My apologies, Chanel. I should’ve told you beforehand, during our sessions, I usually write notes, just to help me remember what we’ve discussed. No one else will ever see these. All right?”
I nodded. “I get it. I do the same with my clients.”
She smiled. “Right, as an attorney, I know you understand how confidentiality works. It’s very similar for therapists. So,” she paused, removing her glasses and setting them on top of the pad. “I want to explain to you how I think I can help you. I’m a cognitive behavioral therapist, which means I specialize in getting to the underlying thoughts that lead to behaviors. By changing those thoughts, the end goal is to alter your behaviors for the better. One pattern of yours I see is that you haven’t dealt with a lot of past or current trauma, and when that happens, it tends to come out when we least expect it. I’d imagine that’s why you're having trouble sleeping. Our defenses are at their weakest point when we’re asleep, and nightmares tend to be the body’s way of processing our unexpressed emotions. Does that make sense?”
I thought about it before answering. “I guess it makes sense.” I chuckled. “I was just kinda hoping you’d be able to give me a prescription for sleeping pills and I’d be on my way.”
Her lips formed into a thin line. “I could do that, or rather, I could write a referral for you to see the psychiatrist across the hall andhecould prescribe you some sleeping pills, but I don’t think that would be best.”
“Why not?”
“Because just from the little you’ve told me, you’re dealing with the trauma of a past abusive relationship. Granted, you’ve stated your ex-fiancé apologized, and maybe he was sincere, but it doesn’t seem as ifyou’veever dealt with it. You also were a witness to a murder-suicide just over, what…two or three months ago? And on top of all that, you’re going through a breakup with someone you care for deeply. In my estimation, just from this short time we’ve been together, I would say you’re experiencing mild symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Do you know what that is?”
“PTSD, of course.”
“Right, and given the fact that it took us nearly two weeks to find a time slot for you to get in to see me, I’d say you’re overcompensating with working.”
I lowered my gaze to the carpet, taking in everything. It was true, it’d taken close to two weeks to find a time to get into Dr. Winston’s office. For the past month, I’d even gone into my office on Saturdays. Gabby had often joked about me being a workaholic, but now a professional in mental health was saying the same thing.
“You think I have PTSD?” I finally asked.
“Possibly, a mild form of it. Either way, I’d say there’s a lot going on with you that we need to work through. And I haven’t even gotten into your family history yet.”
I heaved out a heavy sigh.
Dr. Winston sat up in her chair, placing her hand on my knee comfortingly. “Chanel, from what you’ve told me so far, you’ve never been in counseling. I’m not here to drudge up everything in your past to make you feel terrible. It’s my job to give you the tools to help you lay down the past, so it no longer haunts your present. It’s not always easy, but trust me when I say it’s worth it.” She finished and sat back in her seat.
“You sound almost like me when I tell my clients to trust me.”
“And what do you tell them when they look at you with suspicion, the way you’re looking at me right now?” She grinned.
“I tell them, there’s no one better at what I do.” And I make them believe it because it’s true.
“And that’s what I say to you. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing.” The leveled look she gave had me believing in her ability. If I was going to do this, I doubted there was anyone else I wanted to do it with. I had to learn to trust somewhere, why not start in Dr. Winston’s office?
“Okay.” I nodded.
“Okay. We’ve got about twenty minutes left in our session. I need you to give me a little background and family history before we finish up.”
Over the next twenty minutes, I gave Dr. Winston the basic information on my family history. Born to upper-middle class, married parents, with a father worked his ass off to cross our family over the gap from middle-class to wealthy. That was the shiny story that looked good in the business and housekeeping magazines my father or mother would sometimes find their way into. Dr. Winston wasn’t fooled, though.
