I narrow my eyes with a slight smile. “Can you just prescribe me a pill so I can chill out? You know, a chill pill?”
She returns my smile. “You’d need a psychiatrist for that. But I can definitely work with you on some ways to deal with your anxiety. So far, you talked a bit about little things bothering you. But you did mention something about fighting and dying. Are those things you worry about?”
“Yeah,” I say as the muscles in my back tighten. I hunch over, folding my arms tightly across my lap. “Those are a couple of the things I’ve been dealing with lately. My parents fought a lot. A lot. It was a lot of screaming and yelling. Then they divorced. And one of my classmates, someone I knew, died. I didn’t help her and she died. It’s like everything is broken and since I can’t fix anything, so am I.”
My breaths quicken and my knee bounces again as I wait for this lady to tell me how much of a mess I am.
Donna’s eyes meet mine. She doesn’t frown or look like she feels sorry for me. Her face is certain and sure. She nods. “This makes sense, Bree. You were alone in a house with two adults, fighting and yelling. But those were their problems. Let the adults be the adults. There was nothing you could do to stop it. And now you’ve lost someone? These are life-changing events. It sounds like you’re holding on to a lot of guilt for choices you didn’t make. All of these things would be stressful for anyone in your situation. It’s not out of the ordinary to feel the way you’ve been feeling. Even without the ‘big things’ as you called them, anything and everything you’re dealing with is real. You get worried about things, places, people. Other situations that are unknown to you, things you might not be able to control. Your mind gets put on ‘alert’ and your body responds to that as well. That is your reality. It’s how you’ve dealt with things in order to survive. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
The second I realize she’s telling me it’s okay to feel the way I’ve been feeling, I lose it. My shoulders shake as a sob falls from my mouth. A huge, giant wave comes over me and a million sighs of relief pour down my face disguised as teardrops.
Donna steps over to me and for a second I’m worried she’s going to hug me but she doesn’t. She reaches for the tissues on the table next to me and sets the box in my palm. As she sits back down, I probably use a hundred tissues to blow my nose and wipe my face.
Once I finish crying, Donna leans back in her chair and asks, “Crying can be really cathartic. How does it feel to release those emotions?”
“It’s a little awkward, I guess. Not in a bad way, but just because I’m surprised it was easy to talk to you.” I sniff and wipe my nose again. “It feels like someone saw everything I’m dealing with and finally heard me. And you still said I’m okay.”
Donna then talks a little about learning some coping skills to “add tools to my tool belt.” It’s hard not to actually imagine her wearing a bulky leather belt and passing me a hammer as she gives me tips on breathing. She says that trying to fight the anxiety by telling it to go away is usually going to make it worse. “Don’t just tell yourself to calm down and breathe. Try not to put so much energy into pushing away the fears and anxieties. Acknowledge them and allow yourself a moment or however long you need with those feelings. Do your best to take longer, slower breaths. Keep breathing, and keep going.”
I want to tell Donna everything about Maisey, and maybe even about Sean, but our time is up. When I told Mom I wanted to do this appointment today, I thought I’d just come in here and this lady would tell me what to do about feeling so mad at myself about Maisey. I thought she might tell me what to do about going to Prom without Sean, but I didn’t even have time for that.
When Donna says she’d like to see me again next week, I say, “All right, sure.” As if that was my plan all along.
Stepping out of her office, I feel lighter and at the same time, a little heavier. Maybe it’s because I realize I have a lot more shit to deal with than I thought. Or maybe it’s because this appointment helped and now dealing with things might be a little easier. It’s as if now I’m wearing some armor and if things get bad, I won’t always have to run away. I guess I’ll find out.
****
After relaying some of my therapy session with Mom over brunch, the day feels like it should already be over. But it’s not. It’s still Prom Day. Too-much-crap-in-my-head-today day.
Once I’m finally back at home and kicking back in my bed, I set my alarm for one hour so I can take a nap.