“To who?”
“My family. Ares.” I shrug. “Everyone.”
“Do you feel hopelessness when you think about the future?”
“I have a very good future set out for me,” I repeat the same thing I tell myself every day.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m going to inherit my family’s business. It’s very lucrative.”
“Is that something you want to do?”
“It’s something I have to do,” I say.
“Are there any moments when your mood improves?”
“When I’m with Ares. I’m never sad as much when he’s close,” I admit.
I watch nervously as she writes down in her little book. What the hell is she writing? Did I say something wrong?
“Have you had any thoughts about harming yourself?” she asks.
I glance at Ares and then back at the doctor. This was what I was afraid of. This question.
“Yes, she has,” Ares says.
“Katie?”
“Not harming myself to hurt myself or anyone else. Just… thoughts of ending the sadness, of not being a burden anymore,” I explain.
“How often have you had these thoughts?”
“Not that much. A couple of times.”
“Have you ever tried to act on these thoughts?”
“Once,” I answer quietly.
“Can you tell me about what happened?”
After I describe the whole driving towards a tree moment, the doctor writes down some more notes.
“What stopped you? From hitting the tree?” she presses.
“Ares,” I tell her. “He was in the car. He was yelling at me, and when I realised I’d be hurting him too, I snapped out of it.”
“Do you feel supported by your family or friends?”
“My family loves me. They would support me if they knew how I was feeling. And I have Ares.”
“Do you use alcohol or substances to self-medicate?”
“Yes, she does. She smokes weed,” Ares grunts.
“Katie?” The doctor looks at me, and I nod my head. “I would like you to try to stop that. It’s not going to help you. If anything, that will bring your mood down more.”
“Okay.” I hate that Ares was right. I guess I kind of already knew the weed wasn’t really helping that much, though.
