I don’t trust myself to speak without falling apart, so I just shake my head. God, I wish Santino was in here with me. I wish he was right next to me, holding my hand, wrapping his arms around me, squeezing me tight. It would be easier if he was here. Everything feels easier with him.
Dr. Tina doesn’t rush me, doesn’t repeat the question, doesn’t even try to comfort me. She just sits patiently, waiting for the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions to blow through my mind.
And amazingly, after a few minutes—maybe the longest fucking minutes in my life—the panic stops trying to choke me. It doesn’t go away, not completely, but it recedes just enough that I can actually think semi-coherent thoughts.
“I… get these… I don’t know what to call them. Episodes, I guess? It feels like something’s trying to suffocate me. It’s hard to breathe. My chest hurts. Everything’s dull and muted and heavy, like I’m moving underwater.”
At some point, I scooted back on the couch and I’m bent over at the waist, arms folded between my chest and my knees. I stare at this spot on the carpet where there’s a swirl in the design.
Dr. Tina is still silent.
“Sometimes, I cry,” I continue, throat tight as unruly emotions ricochet around inside me. “Sometimes, I get these really bad thoughts.”
“What kind of thoughts?” Dr. Tina jumps in unexpectedly. She’s been so quiet this whole time, a part of me wondered if she was actually paying attention.
I sneak a glance up at her. She’s studying me, like she’s not only listening to what I’m saying, but what I’m not saying too.
“Um, bad ones,” I say, hoping she won’t make me actually voice them out loud. “Like, about myself.”
“About hurting yourself?”
Tears spring to my eyes so fast I don’t have time to react. They pour down my cheeks like a waterfall being unleashed. Like my chest cracked open and all the shit that’s been bottled up inside me comes rushing out.
I feel like I’m being carried over the edge and then free-falling for god knows how many feet. There’s nothing I can do to stop it, nothing I can grab ahold of to save myself. I’m going to crash into the rocks below and it’s going to hurt. But in the middle of the chaos, there’s this weird sense of freedom, of peace.
Someone knows now. Someone who might be able to do something about it. Someone who might be able to help me.
The sound of something sliding across the coffee table has me blinking my eyes open. Dr. Tina’s pushed the box of tissues in my direction. I grab handfuls and try to stem the flood coming out of my eyes.
“Have you done anything to hurt yourself?” she asks once I’ve sort of gotten control over myself.
It takes me a second to understand what she’s suggesting and horror fills me when I do. I shake my head vehemently. “No, I haven’t. I’m not—”Suicidal. The word gets caught in my throat.
“Have you made plans to hurt yourself?”
I shake my head again. “No!” I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I can’t believe she’s asking me these things.
Is this who I am now? Someone who might hurt himself? Who’s on some sort of watch list and needs to be monitored? Oh god, that’s bad. Like, really bad. I mean, I knew things were bad, obviously. But this is like, next-level bad.
“No, I—they’re just thoughts. I don’t know where they come from. It’s like there’s this other person or thing or somethingplanting them in my head. They’re not my own. They’re not me.” How do I explain this so she gets it? How do I make her understand that this isn’t who I am?
“I used to be a really happy person.” I sniffle every few words, the tears still dripping down my cheeks. “Like, positive and optimistic. ‘Cause like, I have a good life. But this thing… it makes me so negative and angry all the time. For no reason. I feel so… bitter and resentful. I hate feeling this way. I want to be happy again.”
“When did it start?” That’s the first question Dr. Tina asks that feels like she’s guiding me toward an answer. And for some reason, it gives me hope. Like she’s trying to get to the source of the problem.
I try to remember the first time I felt the darkness. “Over a year ago. I think? It’s all kind of hazy now.”
“What was happening in your life around that time?”
Guilt trickles in to mix with my earlier horror as I think back to last summer. “My best friend started seeing a guy. But it’s not his fault!” I rush to add. “I’m not upset they’re together or anything like that. I’m really happy for them.”
“How did your life change when they started seeing each other?” Dr. Tina asks as if she already knows what I’m going to say.
I don’t want to say it, though. Because it makes me ungrateful and selfish. It turns me into a bad person who doesn’t care about his friends.
But Dr. Tina still sits there, watching and waiting. The question hangs in the air between us like a noose gradually tightening around my neck until I answer it.
“I… got left behind.” Fresh tears spring to my eyes. Not quite the waterfall, but a steady stream I keep having to wipe away. “He didn’t do it on purpose. And it’s like, normal he wants tospend more time with Angel. I get that. I don’t have a problem with that. It’s just… then I’m all alone.”
