Page 29 of #Lovestrong

Lena

Grandpa and I sit in the waiting room of the therapist’s office, and I bounce my leg up and down waiting for her to come out. It's my first session and I've never been so nervous in my life. After Declan dropped me off last night, I promised myself I was going to give this whole counseling thing a real shot. He deserves it. And I'm exhausted from trying to deal with everything for the last ten months. I just want to be able to breathe again.

Grandpa reaches over and sits his hand on my leg. "Everything's going to be fine, kiddo. Just take a deep breath."

I still my leg and try to smile at him, but I'm pretty sure it looks more like a grimace. He lifts his hand and sets it on my back, and I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees, twisting my fingers together in front of me. I wish Declan was here with me. He calms my nerves.

"Magdalena Harrison," says a soft but professional voice.

I look up to a middle-aged woman wearing a fitted navy skirt and flowy white silk blouse. She has blonde hair with hints of gray at the sides, pulled into a tight bun. She smiles warmly as I stand up and glance back at Grandpa.

"I'm Doctor Neely. We'll be done in about an hour, Gary," she says, looking over my shoulder.

Grandpa nods at her as she turns to lead me down a hallway to her office. Once inside, she closes the door behind us and gestures for me to take a seat. The office is large with an oak desk on one side. The other side is a sitting area with several different types of chairs. There's a chaise lounge, which feels too clinical for me, two plush winged-back chairs, which don't look even remotely comfortable, an extra-large bean bag chair, and a plush cushioned swinging chair hung from the ceiling.

I pick the swinging chair.

Doctor Neely sits in one of the winged-back chairs with a small table next to it. "Would you like a drink? I've got tea, coffee, soda, bottled water?"

"Uh, water is fine," I say, using my feet to make the chair sway back and forth slowly.

She walks to a small fridge on top a table by her desk, and then comes back and hands me the water before taking her seat again.

"Thanks." I twist the cap off and take a drink, trying to calm my nerves again.

"I'm not sure what you're expecting today, Lena, but I should warn you that I'm not a conventional therapist. I'm not going to spend your first four sessions talking about crap to gain your trust. I'm a trauma therapist. So, instead of me asking you questions about your childhood and your likes and dislikes, why don't we start by you telling me whatever you want to tell me about where you are right now in life."

My eyes go wide as she talks and I swallow the lump in my throat. "Look, I saw a therapist back home for like a month, and then talked my dad into letting me quit going."

"Why'd you go to the therapist?"

"Honestly? I was in a school shooting and my dad found out I was cutting myself after. I promised I wouldn't cut anymore if he wouldn't make me go to the therapist."

She nods her head but never takes her eyes off me. "Did you really stop cutting?"

I sigh loudly. "No. I didn't do it as often, but I hid it better when I did."

"Have you cut since you moved in with your grandparents?" She sits forward in the same manner I was in the waiting room.

"Only a few times, but I can't really do it anymore. And I don't want to, but . . . "

"Why can't you? What's stopping you?"

I spend the next hour telling her all about the shooting, how I've felt since then, coming here, meeting Declan, and everything in between. By the time I stop talking, tears are running down my face and I've got a pile of used tissues in my lap.

"Lena, I think deep down, you're ready to come to terms with what's happened to you. Everything you've said today takes great courage to talk about, and you're right, you can’t move forward with your life if you're still drowning in your past. I want to see you again next Thursday. We can do it in the evening if you prefer, so that you don't have to miss school, but between now and then, I want you to seriously consider being open and honest with Declan and your grandparents."

I wipe the remaining moisture from my face and sit up straight. I feel lighter, like I'm not carrying a boulder on my chest, but at the same time, I'm exhausted after crying so much. I bet my face looks a mess.

"I'll think about it," I say as I get up from the chair, my legs achy after being tucked under me for the last thirty minutes.

She and I walk back to the front and I pull out my cell phone to check the time. I'll get to school right before lunch, and I can't wait to see Declan. Grandpa and her chat quietly for a moment, and then he places his hand on my shoulder as we walk out.

I've never held much stock in therapy, but I have to make this work.

I just have to.