Chapter Thirty-Eight
LEXI
A week later...
Dr. Grant's office was smaller than I expected, all soft lighting and a couch that looked more lived-in than clinical. There was a box of tissues positioned within reach, and that gave me goosebumps on my arms. They expect their clients to cry. I guess I’m screwed.
My fingers went to my mouth and I automatically started biting. My nails were down to the bud because I’d been biting on them so damn much.
"You can relax," She said, settling into the chair across from me, a notepad balanced on her knee.
Relax, sure lady. Relax, all your fears and anxiety will wash away because I’m going to talk you through it. Sorry, but I don’t buy it.
"This isn’t for a grade. This is for you to tell me your thoughts, how you’re feeling. No one is here to judge you.”
I still feel like I’m being judged.
I looked at the notepad sitting in her lap.
This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea.
I took a deep breath, trying to gain control of my body before it decided to do something else. My knees bounced, and I placed my hands on top of them as if that would hold them down.
"Why don't you tell me about what brought you in? You can start wherever feels easiest, even if it’s a small moment.”
I opened my mouth, and nothing came out.
What should I say? Where do I begin? I thought about everything going on; the fact that I was beat up, how things with Mom were healing, how Kayden broke my heart.
I couldn’t figure out where to start. Then, I looked down at the sleeves covering my scars.
Guess I should start from the beginning...
“I...” My mouth opened but nothing came out. Fucking useless. Why can’t I say what I’m thinking? How could I tell someone what I had done for so long? How could I tell someone that my pain was too much, and that escaping it was nonexistent?
I let out a shaky breath, “My brother, Dad, and I were in a car accident over a year ago. I survived, and they... they didn’t.”
“That must’ve been horrible to live through. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She said, but I couldn’t tell if she actually meant it or if she was just saying it. Her green eyes were fully focused on me, not moving to the notepad in her lap.
“My mom blames me...well she used to. I don’t think she does anymore. ”
Her brown eyebrows scrunched together. “Why do you say that?”
I shrugged, “She was never really there for me, and it seemed as though I was a burden to her. Recently though, we talked and are trying to work things out.”
Her forehead creased, “Do you think it should’ve been you?”
I nodded, “I used to...at first. I don’t feel that way anymore, but some days are harder than others.”
I knew deep down that Dad and Jake would’ve wanted me to continue living, to thrive. But it wasn’t easy. Losing someone wasn’t easy.
"When I’m alone and sad, I think about it often. How things would’ve been if I wasn’t here. Then other times, I know that’s not what they would’ve wanted.”
"That's an important thing to notice, especially for a first session." She leaned forward slightly. "That voice; the one that says it should’ve been you, has it always been there?”
I thought about it for a minute, "There was arguing before the crash. Having to relive that horrid day over and over is enough to make me want to crawl into bed and not wake up. I caused it.”
She frowned, “What makes you think you caused it?”
I rubbed a hand over my face, “I wanted to go back for my headphones. I was arguing with my brother about it, and then I went into a panic attack, which caused my dad to lose focus. A truck hit us during it.” I took a shuddering breath and willed my tears away.
Dr. Grant didn't say anything right away, she let the weight of my words settle instead of rushing to fill the silence with more words. "Were you charged?”
“No.”
“Then the eye witness statements stated you were at fault.”
My face scrunched up, “No.”
She held my gaze. "I want to point something out to you, and you don’t have to accept it today..
The accident wasn’t your fault. The result of the panic attack wouldn’t have caused your dad so much stress that he couldn’t focus on the road.
A truck hit you because they weren’t paying attention.
Those are two very different things. Your brain has been trying to convince you that it’s the same thing, but it’s not. ”
"I want to believe that."
She glanced briefly at her notes. "I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. Have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself, or ending your life, since the accident?"
My body stilled. This was the part I'd been terrified of, the reason I refused to seek help.
"I've hurt myself," I admitted. "Not in a way to end things, but ways to make the pain go away. To make things more quiet. I haven’t hurt myself in six months.”
"Thank you for telling me that." Her voice was quiet, too quiet, and it made me regret saying it out loud.
Was she going to ship me off? Was she going to get me admitted to a hospital now?
“Going forward, I want us to focus on that.
I don't want you leaving today feeling shame.
It sounds like you found a way to survive something that felt unsurvivable, using the only tool you had access to at the time.
That doesn't mean it was the healthiest tool.
We're going to work on building better ones together.
Let me be clear, surviving isn't something to be ashamed of. "
My chest loosened, and a heavy breath was released.
"I don't really know what I need," I muttered. "I've never let myself think that far ahead. It's always been about getting through the next hour, the next day."
"We don't have to solve all of it today. That’s why we do this in sessions, so we can work together to help you heal.
" She offered a small, reassuring smile.
"What I'd like to do, if you're open to it, is to meet once a week for a month.
We'll work through the accident, the guilt, your relationship with your mother, and build out some real tools for the moments when the urge to hurt yourself shows up. Does that sound okay?"
"Yeah," my voice cracked.
"Good." She glanced at the clock. "We're almost out of time for today, but I want to leave you with one thing to sit with. You came in here not knowing what to expect. You said some things with me that were incredibly hard for you to share. That takes courage. You need to give yourself some credit. Even though it may not seem like it, you are finding ways to heal.”
I nodded, swallowing the giant lump in my throat. My eyes glistened and I tried to force back the tears.
"Same time next week?" she asked.
I stood, grabbing my bag off the floor, and nodded. “Thank you.”
Hazel sat outside, waiting for me in her car. I opened the passenger door, and climbed inside.
“How’d it go?”
A sigh escaped my lips as I rested my head on the headrest. “Better than I thought it would.”
“Well, do you want to talk about it over dinner?”
My stomach rumbled at the thought, a smile appeared on my face. “Yes, the same place as always?”
She rolled her eyes, and put the car in reverse. “Yes, you dork. Got to have your queso.”
Damn right I did, especially when the emotions were high.