“Give that time, I think about smothering Spencer’s dad all the time. Twenty-six years will do that, do you suppose? Not that I ever would, but booooy does it cross my mind a time or two.” I can’t help but laugh at her, honestly. “My point is, sweetie, I know you are kind and respectful, you care deeply for others, and oftentimes above yourself. I know you better than you may think.” Wow, she's good.
“Shall we begin?” I nod and get ready, taking a deep breath.
“First, we can do a rapid question, yes, no, or sometimes, and then we will get comfy and girl talk?” I nod, and she picks up her pen and paper, starting.
“Do you feel uninterested in things that used to bring you joy?”
“No.”
“Do you suffer from low self-esteem, feeling worthless, or guilt?”
“Yes.” Her eyes lift, and she gives a small, loving smile. She continues to ask me if I sleep well, or have nightmares, if I have energy, or feel fatigued. She asked if I had difficulty concentrating or remembering details, to which I answered no. Then came the questions. The ones I’ve been waiting for, to be honest, or not.
“Do you have thoughts of death or self-harm?” My answer does not come as rapidly as the others. The pause in my answermakes her lean in and set her pen down. “It’s okay. If the answer is yes, can you tell me which or both?”
I swallow down my rising emotions, “Self-harm.” She nods and jots it down on her paper.
“Okay, sweetie, do you feel any physical pain?” I think about that question. Right now, at this moment, my answer is no. If she asked me again another day, it could be yes. It changes day to day, depending on how the night before went.
“Right now, no.” She presses her lips together and shakes her head in understanding.
“You did very well, sweetie. Now, why don’t you tell me about yourself, as little or as much as you want? If I feel the need to know more, I’ll ask.” As she places the notebook in her lap and the tip of the pen on the paper, I am ready for my spiel. Taking a deep breath, I look at her and wonder how many people she has saved. How many people did she try to save, but ultimately couldn’t?
I start small, telling her where we came from and why we left, which she already knew. I told her about school in my hometown and how terrible it was. I was bullied constantly due to my mother's health and my dad’s tendencies. I explained my relationship with my brother and how it has always been us against the world. I even told her about the night my mother died, and the thoughts that paraded in my mind; they were dark, wrong, and full of malice. My eyes drop because this is the darkness that feeds at night when my mind is on repeat, reminding me of the thoughts I have had and the wrongness of them.
I listen to her pen write furiously until it stops. “I am going to interrupt you for a moment. Everything you have told me so far is not your fault. Your mother's leaving is not your fault. Thatwas her choice. I am sorry you had to bear the consequences of her actions. Your brother stepping up and taking care of you again is not your fault. Unless you begged him at his feet to care for you, to feed you, and to show you love. Did you beg him, sweetie?” I shake my head no. “Okay, so he chose to, because he loves you. People who love you do these things without thought. It comes naturally to them, just like when you come over and I offer you something to eat or drink. You do not beg me or even ask me to go out of my way to do so; I do it because I want to. It is crucial to understand that you can simply be loved, for all that you are, and all that you are not.” I can feel a tear slipping because this woman must wield magic to make me feel seen, heard, and loved. Just her smile makes me feel like she’s loved me my whole life.
“I am beginning to understand that it is possible to be loved. I just need to figure out how to love myself, the way others so effortlessly love me.” She smiles.
“One more thing before our time is up. You mentioned self-harm… are you actively doing this now?” I shake my head no.
“It has been two months since the last time.” She scribbles down my answer.
“How do you self-harm?” I look down, embarrassed.
“I used to burn.”
She closes her notebook, folding her hands. “Every time a thought comes up that starts the moving train of anxiety, and spiraling thoughts and feelings, I want you to ground yourself. Think about where you are, what you see, what you hear, and what you can even smell. I am so proud of you and everything you have overcome. This is just the beginning.”
“Thank you for today, and for helping me,” I reply as she smiles, leading me out of her office.
“What do you say we end with cookies?” I smirk because this woman can make some damn good cookies.
“Yes, please.” We get seated in the kitchen when Spencer walks in. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. It’s not even baseball season anymore, yet he’s working out just as much. He walks in wearing his grey t-shirt, dark with outlines of wetness, which is gross.
“Hello, my two favorite women.” He kisses his mom on her cheek, then walks to me, leaning in to kiss me, and I slowly back up. Nodding towards his mother. “Don’t mind Momma here, she knows I love you.” She plates Spencer two cookies. “And she knows we do more than kiss.” He winks and takes a bite of his cookie. My face turns ten shades of red. “Thank you for the cookies, Ma. I was nervous that I’d be served two condoms. Very happy with the cookies, however, I would have been happy either way.” He winks at me again, and my mouth drops open.
“Spencer!” I shriek in pure embarrassment. Anna laughs, taking my empty plate and placing it in the sink.
“I love you both, but no babies while you are still babies. So, until then, cookies and condoms, it will be.” She smiles and walks out of the room, leaving me with her untamed son.
“You are something else, aren't you?” I shake my head and stand up from my chair.
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in. “I’m ready to be. Do you love yourself like I love you yet?” He kisses my cheek.
“Nope, but today was a good start.” It truly was. I feel good, powerful, and content. I release myself from his hold and turn to head home.
“That's okay, I’ll love you enough for both of us.” He yells as I make my way to the door, and I have no doubt in my mind that he will do just that.
