The room is silent. Even Earl Grey stops purring for a moment, only to start again.
“I was standing in the train station this morning and this thought just popped into my head,” I say, rushing onward. “That I could just jump in front of it. Why would I think that? I don’t want to die. But I couldn’t even walk down the street today without thinking about jumping in front of a car. I’m afraid I’m going to do it, and I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to die!” My voice breaks on the last word, stretching it out into a wail and then I’m sobbing, bent forward on the bed. Mom’s arms close around me a moment later, someone else’s hand on my head, Shar and Mom both murmuring to me as I cry. Anna’s holding my arm with both hands now, squeezing my bicep.
“Sweetie,” Mom says. “Honey. We’re going to figure this out, OK?”
I nod, the top of my head rubbing against her chest, and slowly sit up. Mom pats my face with one of Shar’s clothhankies, as Shar gives me a small smile and leaves the room, coming back a moment later with a glass of water for me. I sip and then take the hanky from Mom, blowing my nose.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say. “I didn’t want to upset you or anything. I haven’t been able to focus on school because it’s just been getting worse and worse, and I have a huge essay due on Friday that I’ve barely started.”
“Your well-being is way more important than school,” Mom says in a low, fierce voice.
“But last year...”
“Is this why you were struggling then?”
I nod.
“Sidney. I’m so sorry.” Mom cups my face with her hands. “I thought I asked you what was going on.”
“You did, but ...you were so mad.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I thought you’d just get more upset if I made excuses.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. My baby.” Mom scoots closer and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry for anything I did that made you feel that way.”
I start crying again, and I can tell by the way she’s breathing that she’s crying too, and that just makes me cry harder.
“Anna,” Mom says after a while. “Thank you for helping Sidney. I’m guessing that’s why you came over today.”
“Yeah,” Anna says. “Sidney’s my best friend.”
“You’re a good kid,” Shar says. “I’m going to make us all some dinner, and then we can talk about what to do next.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mom says.
“I got you.” I hear Shar’s footsteps grow faint as she moves out of the room.
I let out a deep, shuddering sigh into Mom’s shoulder. I told people the truth, and the world didn’t end. I told people what my brain is doing, and they didn’t lock me away or tell me I’m crazy. They still love me. They’re going to help me.
Mom squeezes me closer, her arms warm and comforting, and for the first time in a long time, I feel safe.
Mom calls me out of school for the rest of the week and takes an emergency leave at work. My whole body fills with relief when she tells me. I won’t have to face Forrest or the rest of my friends just yet. Even though I know it will be all right if I tell Jayden and Makayla what’s been going on, I’m still not completely sure. Part of me is still scared, still whispering to me about how it could all go wrong. I try not to listen, I try to block the voice out, but it doesn’t really work.
She emails her therapist and gets a list of recommendations for people who work with teens and take our health insurance. I don’t leave the house the entire weekend; I’m afraid if I go out the thoughts will come back and I’ll lose control this time. To keep my brain as quiet as I can, I watch hours and hours of shows and movies. On Monday, Mom calls me out of class again, then emails my teachers and asksthem for extensions on all my missing work. It feels good to be babied.
On Tuesday, Mom drives me to my appointment with the first therapist on the list.
“Remember,” she says once we’re parked. “If you don’t like her, we have more options.”
I nod. We get out of the car and make our way inside. It’s a newer office building in one of the neighborhoods in North Seattle, nestled on a side street, next to a community garden. The elevator takes us up to the seventh floor, and we step off into a waiting room lined with windows, a hallway stretching away from it on either side. I can see doors spaced along it, and a few people wait in chairs for their appointments.
We’ve been sitting for only a few moments when a woman appears. “Sidney?” she says. Mom squeezes my arm, and I stand, moving toward the therapist.
“Hi there,” she says with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling. “I’m Tracy.”
“Hi,” I say, following her. She’s a few inches shorter than me, her hair cut like Shar’s but brunette. She’s dressed in classic Seattle wear: dark jeans and a black fleece jacket open over a crew-neck shirt.
“My pronouns are she/her,” she says.
“They/them,” I answer.
