I frown, panic flaring in my chest. “What if I don’t know my goals?”
“That’s okay,” she assures. “We can figure them out together.”
The panic lessens a little. “Okay.”
“So, I’ll tell you about my background first. My name is Deborah Ferris. I’ve been a licensed professional counselor for thirteen years now. Seven of those I’ve spent here, at Stratus’s counseling center, where I specialize in anxiety, depression, trauma, and PTSD. I have a cat named Charlie and a dog namedBruce, and I spend a lot of my free time tending to the garden in my backyard. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about you?”
“Um.” I swallow. “Well, I-I-” I break off abruptly as I stumble over my tongue, but Deborah waits patiently for me to gather myself and continue. “Well,” I try again, this time with little issue, “I’m a freshman. I’m from Miller Hill. I’m majoring in graphic design. I like to read.” I try to think of more descriptors, but my mind blanks. I tap my fingers against my thigh. “Um, sorry. That’s not much. I’m not sure what else.”
“That’s a great start. Why don’t you tell me a bit about your family and friends?”
My family and friends. Right. I clear my throat a little. “Well, my parents live in Miller Hill. I have two brothers, Noah and Scott. They’re both older than me. We’re not that close, but we get along, I guess.”
“And your friends?”
“I…don’t have many friends,” I admit. The image of Wes’s face pops into my head and my heart cracks open. I rub at my chest. “My roommate, Quinn, is probably my closest, but I haven’t spoken to her much lately.”
Guilt sears through my stomach, and I shift on the couch.
“Oh? Why is that?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I just haven’t felt like speaking to anyone with how I’ve been feeling.”
“And how have you been feeling?”
I search for a word that can possibly encompass my whirlwind of emotions. I settle for, “Down. Really down.”
Deborah’s eyes turn sympathetic. “And how long have you been feeling really down, Ivy?”
I take a moment to consider her question before saying, “Almost two years, I guess. It got better for a while…” I think of Wes’s contagious smile and exceptional hugs, but the memoriesevaporate, leaving me empty inside. “But then it got worse again.”
“And is this feeling of being ‘down’ what brings you to see me?”
My knee starts to bob. I tuck my hands under my thighs, but when that’s not comfortable, I rest them loosely in my lap. I glance around the room like the words I should say might be written on the walls.
Deborah waits patiently for me to respond, but I suddenly feel the weight of the last couple weeks, crushing the breath out of me. I’m overcome by the feeling of hopelessness, and when I speak, my voice wobbles. “Yes,” I say. “I’ve just been struggling a bit.”
Deborah nods, frowning a little. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says. “What do you think has been causing you to struggle?”
I swallow, trying to keep my emotions under control. I will not cry. “Well, it’s a few things. But I worry that it all stems from something…bigger.”
“Something bigger,” she repeats. “Can you explain what you mean by that?”
“I mean something that happened that I haven’t dealt with,” I tell her. “Something maybe…traumatic.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, uncomfortable using the T-word. Deborah jots something down in her notebook before looking up at me again. “Would you feel comfortable sharing the details of what happened?”
My blood starts rushing in my ears. My fingertips begin to tingle. “I want to talk about it,” I say, so quietly I doubt she can even hear me, “but I don’t really know how.”
She nods, thoughtful. “It’s hard to know where to begin sometimes. Do you think you might be able to write it down?”
I blink at her. “Like, in a note?”
“Sure, a note would work. You can give it to me in person at the start of next session or share it with me over email if you’d prefer to type it out. You can also read it aloud to me next session if you feel comfortable. Sometimes having the words in front of you makes it easier to share. Do any of those options sound like they might be doable?”
I weigh her words. Truthfully, who knows if I’ll be able to execute any of those options when the time comes? But I don’t tell her that, though I probably should. “How, um, detailed do I have to be?”
“As detailed as you’re comfortable with,” she says simply.
