9. Chapter Nine #2
“Good.” He smiles, but it’s a little sad.
“The reason I asked that question the other day was because I hoped to understand what you want out of our time together. I wanted to know if one of your goals is to speak again, or if you would prefer we don’t pursue that during our sessions.
It’s up to you. No one else can decide that for you.
No one else even gets a say in it, in fact. ”
But Nolan wants me to speak so badly.
Bryce, too.
“No one else,” he repeats firmly, like he can read my mind. I wish he could. Maybe he’d have better luck at sorting out the mess up there. “No one else gets to decide it, okay? The control is yours. Entirely.”
Well, that’s terrifying…
Or comforting?
No, definitely terrifying.
“Okay, Matt? You choose what we work on in therapy. You choose what you want your goals to be. No one else. Okay?”
I tell myself that I’m breathing, that air is getting into my lungs, but my chest still burns a little. I still somehow manage to nod.
“I do want to say one thing though, okay?” His voice lilts a certain way when he ends his sentences with those okays.
It’s so gentle, but not the kind of gentle that Nolan or Bryce uses.
When they’re gentle, it makes me feel fragile, like any wrong move might shatter me to pieces.
When Dr. Singh is gentle, it makes me feel like he can clearly see that I’m already broken, he can see the reality, and he’s still willing to help me, still believes he can help me.
“Matt, can you please look at me?”
I force my gaze up to meet his. His smile is happier now. Hopeful.
“I am very confident that I can help you build a healthy, happy, fulfilled life if you give me a chance. Very confident. Okay?” I nod slowly, believing in his confidence, even if I don't believe he'll succeed. “Now, whether the ability to speak is a part of that life is entirely up to you. Just like I said, your therapy is in your hands. I just want to make it abundantly clear that my own confidence in our success in getting that life for you isn’t at all affected by which you choose. Do you understand that, Matt?”
When I hesitate, he leans forward and clasps his hands together. His eyes are wide and kind and - and another word - that word - I can’t think of it, but it’s good, it’s a good thing.
“All your choice does is give me the information I need to come up with a plan. It gives me a goal to work toward, if you want to work toward it. That is it. It’s one thing on a list. That’s the only difference your decision will make.
I need you to understand that I believe -I truly, with my whole heart, believe - that I can help you obtain happiness with or without you ever speaking another word. ”
I squeeze my bunny, not sure when I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pocket. His fur doesn’t feel as soft. Probably because my hands are sweaty and shaking. I hope that doesn’t ruin him.
I promised him I wouldn’t ruin him.
I promised, I promised, I promised, I-
“Matt?” I look at him again. I don’t know when I looked away. It’d be concerning, probably, if I wasn’t so used to my body working on autopilot while my brain spins. All it makes me feel now is tired. “I’m sorry, that was a lot of words. Is that overwhelming, when there are a lot of words at once?”
I want to say yes, but what happens instead is a sort of stiff and awkward shrug.
Earnest. That was the word I was trying to remember earlier. His eyes are so earnest.
“It's okay if a lot of words do overwhelm you, and it’s okay if that’s happening now.
I wrote all of this down, just in case you didn’t want to hear my apology.
You can take it with you to read later, or to just have as a reminder whenever you need it.
This is too important for you not to know, okay? ”
I manage a nod this time.
“Can you nod or give me a thumbs-up if you understand that I believe I can help you be happy whether we address your ability to speak or not?”
I believe he believes it, so I nod.
“Good. It was important for me to establish that. Can you nod or give me a thumbs-up if you understand that everything to do with your therapy and what we discuss here is entirely in your control?”
Haven’t I already told him that I understand that? Maybe he just wants to make double sure, since he says it’s so important? Or maybe he thinks my head is too messy to remember?
My head is pretty messy…
It suddenly feels hard to move my head, even just to nod, so I pry my hand off of my bunny one finger at a time and pull it out of my pocket until I can give him a thumbs-up.
“Good. That’s very good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn't feel itchy to see it like it usually does with the others. Probably because his relief doesn't make me feel like I got the right answer. There's no weight to it.
“Now that I’ve explained why I asked the question about speaking, I’d like to explain why I shouldn’t have.
Is that okay, or do you want to put it off for later and take a break?
Nod if it’s okay, or give a thumbs-up, or give me one finger.
Shake your head, give me a thumbs-down, or give me two fingers if not and we can discuss it the next time we meet instead. ”
I hate that he’s offering to put stuff off again. Why would I want to spend even more time dreading something when I can just rip it off like a band-aid?
Then again, this has felt like a lot of words, especially for only getting a few simple points across to me. One more point will probably be a lot more words. Maybe too many. But I might as well get it over with, right?
Even that line of thinking just felt like too many words.
I am so tired.
And hungry.
Dios mío, my stomach hurts.
“Matt?”
I force one of my thumbs-up, hoping my expression tells him something along the lines of, Let’s please just get it over with.
He hesitates, or maybe he’s just doing one of those pauses when you’re supposed to be reflecting on your feelings or something. I’m too tired to reflect on anything.
I’m starting to think I’m too tired to feel. Or too dead. Too much of a ghost.
I put my hands back in my pocket, grabbing my bunny. Soft. So soft, even with the sticky sweat from my skin.
I can feel that. I can feel my bunny. I can feel my aching stomach. I can feel that I’m tired. I am not dead. I am not a ghost.
I’m real, I’m real, I’m real -
“Therapists should not try to tackle hard topics with their clients until they have a better relationship with them. I needed to take the time to build trust with you before asking you something like that. Yes, it was important for me to know what you want out of our time together, and your mutism would be a very important part of that if you wanted it to be, but I pushed too hard and too fast. I needed to wait.”
Oh.
Okay.
That’s… yeah. Yeah, that kind of makes sense.
“How things ended last time was entirely my fault, Matt. Mine. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Okay?”
But - well… it’s my fault that I can’t keep it together long enough to answer his important questions, isn’t it? And my fault that -
“I’m the professional,” he continues. “I’m the expert. I’m not perfect, I’m human, which means I’ll get things wrong, but I promise you that when I do, as long as I’m aware of my mistake, I will always tell you and take responsibility for it.
“That's why it’s also important for you to understand that if you ever think I made a mistake, you can tell me. It won’t matter if you’re right or wrong.
Right and wrong aren’t really important, in the grand scheme of things.
If it’s a feeling you have, then it's valid and we should discuss it. We’ll look at it from every angle and navigate it together.
I want us to have the kind of relationship where we can openly communicate about those things.
About anything, actually. This works best when we’re on the same page.
I want to be a team. I would never ask you to go through therapy on your own; I will be next to you the entire time.
But that kind of relationship, that kind of building of trust, will take time.
I tried rushing it and I am very, very sorry about that, Matt. ”
The apology is… nice. That kind of relationship and trust would be nice, too. But I don’t know how to build that. Not without trauma. All of my relationships in the last decade, every relationship I have today, have been built on trauma. Is that what this will be built on, too? My trauma?
That makes sense, but it's just that I’m so tired of trauma.
I'm so tired, period.
“The first step in building that trust is me taking responsibility for my previous mistake. I was wrong. Matt? Can you look at me? I’m sorry. This is the last really important thing. I just need to know you’re still with me.”
That helps, a little, knowing the important stuff is almost finished. If I miss a bunch of words after this next part, it won’t matter. They won’t be as important.
That’s enough of a relief for it to actually be easy to look at him. Easier, at least. His eyes are doing that wide, kind, earnest thing again.
“I am telling you that I was wrong, Matt. I was wrong, I made a mistake, and that hurt you. I take responsibility for that. I am sorry for that. I promise you that I will do everything I can to not make a mistake like that again. Okay?”
My eyes burn, but not because I’m sad. Or maybe not only because I’m sad. There’s something else beneath that emotion, something twisty and unfamiliar. I nod quickly, desperate to move on before the feeling has a chance to get worse.
He smiles and relaxes in his chair. It feels like the moment is over, the important one he asked me to look at him for, so I let myself relax back and look at my knees instead. It’s a little easier to breathe the next time I inhale. My eyes stop burning.
“That’s all written down. I’ll make sure you get that before you leave here.”
Now? Can I leave now?