“Wow.”
“I know! Some nerd, huh? Failing school. Totally out of character. Jess and I had a big heart-to-heart over winter break that year. She reminded me that if I got kicked out of UConn, I would have to go back to Beacon Hill.”
He lit a cigarette and offered it to me. I accepted gratefully and took a drag.
“So, I started seeing a therapist in Hartford, near campus. He tweaked my prescription and switched me off Prozac and onto Zoloft, which eventually helped, though not right away. He said my anxiety was causing my depression to get worse, despite the fact that I’d been on anti-depressants for over a year at that point.” I inhaled the cigarette smoke, appreciating the way it burned the inside of my chest. “As time went on, I still felt totally numb and disconnected from everyone. I can’t say that I was sad, more like just empty. So, then a few months later, my doctor upped the dose on my Zoloft.”
“To what?”
“Two hundred milligrams a day. I was a zombie, Matt. There’s no other way to describe it. Every day I was on autopilot, drifting from one class to the next, one meal to the next. Jessica started dating this guy, Seth, so she was out with him all the time, and I would just hang out alone.” I took a sip from my bottle. “The upside was that my grades improved, so I kind of fell off everyone’s radar.”
Matt nodded, listening intently.
“Things got a bit better junior year. I got used to Jessica and Seth being together, and I started working as a babysitter, just to get out of the house. I found that I enjoyed being around kids. Like, something would happen—we’d be at the playground or whatever, and one little girl I worked with had this laugh that just sounded like a chipmunk squeal. I’d push her high on the swing and she’d let out that sound. It was pure joy. You couldn’t hear it and not smile.” I paused, remembering. “Anyway. Around that time, the doctor lowered me to 100 milligrams, and I felt a little better. But when I started my second semester of senior year, I started freaking out about where I was going to live after college ended. Everyone had plans to go back home and look for jobs. Some people were going on for master’s degrees, but I barely even knew what I wanted to do with my life, and wasting money on a master’s at that time seemed dumb. I knew I would be stuck going back to live with my aunt. And, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love her—but her house was never really home to me.”
This was an understatement. Aunt Lucy had been amazing, all things considered. I knew it was a huge deal that after living her whole life unmarried, with no children, my aunt was accepting a teenager into her home. And a grieving one at that! Part of me believed it was guilt. Another part thought maybe she longed for company, but that theory fizzled out after living with her for the few weeks immediately following my dad’s imprisonment. We ate meals together quietly. Aunt Lucy went to church every day, sometimes more than once. I could no more imagine bringing a friend to the house than inviting in a stray dog, as there was an order and rhythm and silence to the house that Aunt Lucy found comfortable.
“So, what did you do?”
“I had no choice. I went back. Had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, so I got a job waitressing at Applebee’s in Dorchester. I fell into a pretty dark place during that period.”
What Iwasn’tprepared to share was that for the next few months, I began cutting myself in an attempt to feel something. Aunt Lucy caught me one morning in the shower pressing the blade of a kitchen knife into my thigh, which led to a complete re-evaluation of the largely occasional doctor’s appointments I’d been going to. I was brought down to Brigham and Women’s Hospital to meet with one of the top specialists in the state, who sent me to Dr. Starks, a colleague of his from Harvard Medical who specialized in adolescent grief counseling. Dr. Starks raised my dosage back up to 200 milligrams of Zoloft, and met with me five days a week for almost 12 months for cognitive behavioral therapy.
Matt and I locked eyes. “Go on.”
“Dr. Starks helped a lot. She worked with me to visualize a path for myself. She helped me carve out what the next steps should be, and that’s how I ended up going back to school. I decided I wanted to finda job where I could help kids who had been through stuff. Kids like me.”
“And now you work here.”
“And now I work here,” I repeated. “In my final semester at school, I even wrote my thesis about the effects of anti-depressants on adolescents and told my doctor I wanted to come off the drugs.”
“How did that go?”
“Well, it took about four months. I just finished my final prescription a few weeks ago.”
“Really? How do you feel?”
I shrugged. “I’m okay. A little jumpy at times. And I cry more easily now. My senses sometimes feel like they’re on overload.”
He put his cigarette out, then popped the butt of it into his empty beer bottle and swirled it around. I took a swig of the Mike’s while Matt waited for me to continue.
“Especially now, being here. It’s wild being back. But—I don’t know—to be honest, I’m kind of freaking out. Because how is it possible that after all this time, somehow you’re here too? That feels too strange to just be a coincidence, right?”
“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Crazy,” I shook my head.
Matt nodded in agreement.
“So, what about you? I just gave you a mouthful. What’s your story?”
Matt exhaled. “I’m going to need another drink. You?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s go back to your place. We can put your groceries away, and I’ll tell you everything. Although I must warn you, it’s pretty boring. I won’t be offended if you fall asleep.”
“I’ll try not to.” I smiled.
