Chapter Thirty-Five
Matt
There were only a few things in the world that made me genuinely nervous. El was one of them, with the way she, to this day, caused a sea of butterflies to ignite in my core. Another was hockey, but only when it came to the pressure-filled, important games.
Today, I found something new to add to the list.
Therapy.
I’d never gone before. It was probably something I should’ve done a long time ago.
El had encouraged me that it may help, and considering she was usually right, I decided to give it a shot.
Clearly, I needed some sort of guidance. I’d hit rock bottom, and if I wanted anything to change, then I had to be open to change.
I’d been working my ass off at practice since getting benched the other week, hoping that Coach would ease up. We were a month out from the national tournament, and he hadn’t stopped being a hardass. I was still benched. And I’d do anything to fix it.
I had no idea what to expect. El had helped me find a therapist online that specialized in anger management. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be her one untreatable case.
Walking into the doors of Enlightened Counseling, I stopped in my tracks. Other than the serene sounds of a remote waterfall, the place was eerily quiet, empty even.
Was I at the right place?
Vacant couches occupied part of the room, and I tiptoed over, afraid to disrupt the silence.
I’d hardly been sitting for a minute before a door opened to a smiling face, the same one I’d seen online.
Justine looked to be in her thirties, eyes bright with encouragement. She was African American and similar in height to El. Something about her warmth was welcoming, calming. She hadn’t said a word yet, and I was already feeling less anxious about being here.
“Matt?”
“Yeah,” I stood through a sigh.
“Right in here.”
The office was miniscule, definitely not equipped for a giant like me. But I sat anyway on the small blue couch, positioned across from a brown chair.
There were diplomas on the walls, one from Cedar U, which brought another wave of relief. Knickknacks decorated the surrounding space, making it a more personable, laidback environment.
Justine started with simple questions, asking me basic things about my life.
I told her about El, of course, then about my family, friends, and hockey.
I didn’t dive deep, keeping my answers short, giving her just enough to pick up pieces of me.
The more we bounced back and forth, the more I started to get settled in.
Through it all, she was still smiling, beaming steadily. I felt like a lot of people in the world hated their jobs, but if she was one of those people, she did a damn good job hiding it.
“So,” she sat back, “I remember you mentioned on the phone that you needed some support regulating your anger?”
My stomach dipped, the type of dip you’d get right before the major drop on a rollercoaster. My tone came out shameful. “Yeah.”
“Let’s talk about that,” she nodded. Fuck. “When did your anger start?”
I remained candid, a bit reluctantly, but if this was going to work, then I needed to do it right. “I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.”
Justine remained so tranquil, so nonjudgmental. I was used to people looking at me like I was a beast, an untamed wild animal that belonged in a zoo. Even strangers were afraid of me. My name had poison soaked into it; that was no secret.
But Justine wasn’t fazed. Her tone didn’t shift, softness didn’t alter. She spoke like we were equals, as if she didn’t think any less of me for the damage I’d inflicted in the past.
If only she knew.
“Okay, and is there anything specific that seems to trigger your anger?”
“Usually whenever someone hurts me or someone I care about.”
“And what does your anger look like? How do you react when you’re angry?” she asked.
The words didn’t want to come out. She barely knew me, but I was already afraid her view of me would shift at the truth.
I’d damaged property.
I’d broken bones.
I’d given concussions.
Black eyes. Bloody noses. Tears. Fear. Pain.
Shifting, my eyes dropped to the grey, velour carpet. “I usually get... violent.”
“Can you tell me about some of the times you’ve had those moments? What led up to them and how you reacted?”
I didn’t want to, but something about her began to slowly pull answers out of me.
I told her about the time I got arrested, a few of the other fights I’d been involved in over the years, and what happened with Cody.
She still didn’t seem rattled in the slightest. There wasn’t even a hint of fear or scrutiny that flickered in her eyes. The lack of reaction was almost making me confused. Either she was really good at what she did, or she’d come across even bigger monsters than me.
This was her job— she dealt with all different types of people and specialized in anger management. I guess I hadn’t realized how many people out there may have been similar to me, turning to help for guidance on how to put those ugly flames out that lived inside of them for so long.
“Thank you for sharing all of that with me,” Justine nodded. “So, what I want to do next is discuss your ultimate goals with therapy. Then, we can circle back and dig a little deeper to try to get to the bottom of all this in order to determine the best route forward for you.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“What’s your goal?”
To be a better person.
To be back on the ice.
To be able to walk into a room without making people hypervigilant.
“I wanna be able to control it,” I said. “I don’t want to lose my temper every time something or someone ticks me off.”
Justine smiled. “You’ve got it.”