The Paradox Club

Therapist N 1

“Do you have any place to go?”

“No.”

“There must be someplace.”

“No.”

“Where do you feel safe?”

“The island.”

“An isolated, uninhabited island is probably not the best place for someone suffering a mental health crisis.”

“Is that what this is?”

“When you called, you said you felt like a marble falling off a table, Tess. You told me a dark wave was cresting over you. These are not healthy metaphors. You didn’t get out of bed for three days.

And before you sat down just now you had to tap the arm of the chair three times. Yes, this is a mental health crisis.”

“I always tap the arm three times.”

“Tess.”

“Okay, fine, it’s a mental health crisis.”

“Do you feel stressed?”

“Are you kidding? Papers due, exams coming up, and every time I try to do any work, I have to tap the arm of the chair or…or something. And if I make it through this year, what then? I’ve always had school. What do I do without it?”

“You like having structure?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Are you having suicidal thoughts?”

“I don’t know. I want to feel safe.”

“Who makes you feel safe?”

“Harry.”

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you call him Harry?”

“It’s his name.”

“But people don’t usually call their parents by their first names.”

“Don’t they?”

“I’m glad you have happy memories of Harry, but you do know that he’s dead.”

“Of course I know that.”

“What about your mother?”

“What about her?”

“Does she make you feel safe?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Haven’t we been through this before?”

“No, we haven’t. Maybe you’re thinking of another therapist?”

“Maybe.”

“It says here you’ve seen four other therapists in the office since you came to the University of Illinois.”

“Sounds about right.”

“How many therapists have you had in your life, Tess?”

“I don’t know. I just think of my previous therapist as number n, which makes you therapist number n + 1. And here you are two sessions in and we’re already having fun.”

“So, why doesn’t your mother make you feel safe?”

“She doesn’t love me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“She blames me for Harry’s death.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She said so.”

“Was she abusive?”

“She didn’t pay enough attention to me to be abusive. She acted like I didn’t exist.”

“She neglected you.”

“After Harry died, she didn’t want me around.

We tried a few times—a week here, an overnight there.

Once even as long as a month. But it was even worse being ignored in person than being neglected from across town.

Once in a while she might notice me enough to harp on me about something.

You hung your toothbrush up backward. You didn’t fold the towels properly.

You can’t possibly wear that shirt with those pants.

I actually liked it when she nagged me. At least it was an acknowledgment of my existence. Those were rare.”

“Did you ignore her, too?”

“Eventually.”

“And where did you live, when you weren’t with your mother?”

“With my aunt Vivian.”

“Right. You mentioned her last time. ‘Crazy Vivian,’ I think you called her.”

“Something like that.”

“How do you think your mother would react if you reached out, if you told her you needed help?”

“She’d be annoyed, and she wouldn’t lift a finger. But she’d come up with some excuse to make her—what did you call it?—her neglect seem reasonable.”

“Maybe you underestimate her.”

“Not possible.”

“Look, Tess, if you drop out of school, it means you can’t go on living in the dorm.

You don’t have a job or any significant amount of money.

You won’t even be able to see me or anyone else in this office once you’re officially not a student anymore.

I don’t want you living on the streets. You have to go somewhere. ”

“And you think I should go to Marie?”

“Your mother. Yes. That would certainly be one choice. But you shouldn’t go there if you think she’s only going to make the situation worse.”

“Then I shouldn’t go there.”

“When was the last time you saw your mother?”

“Two years ago, I think.”

“You haven’t seen her since your sophomore year?”

“Maybe three years ago, then.”

“Why haven’t you seen your mother in three years?”

“Harry died when I was twelve.”

“In the fire.”

“Right.”

“Ten years ago.”

“Right.”

“And…”

“And, like I said, I did spend some time with Marie, even though she clearly didn’t want me there.

But finally, I couldn’t do it anymore—sitting there absorbing her resentment.

So, when I was fourteen, I stopped going.

On the advice of therapist number one. I mean, I’d visit for an awkward hour or two at Christmas, but other than that… ”

“How long had you been in therapy?”

“A few months.”

“Your father was dead, your mother ignored you, and you waited almost two years to see a therapist?”

“I was a kid. What did I know?”

“Not even a school counselor or anything?”

“Therapist number one was the school counselor.”

“And you lived with Aunt Vivian?”

“On holidays. When I wasn’t at boarding school.”

“Who decided to send you to boarding school?”

“I got the impression Marie and Aunt Vivian talked about it together. Something about giving me a fresh start.”

“And they didn’t think you were a little young to go away to school?”

“I was intellectually mature, Vivian said.”

“Is Aunt Vivian your mother’s sister or your father’s?”

“Neither. Friend of the family.”

“And did you feel safe with her?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you mention her before, when I asked you where you would feel safe?”

“Like I said, Vivian is, I guess the polite word is eccentric.”

“In what way is she eccentric?”

“She tells stories.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I mean stories about her own past—stories that can’t possibly be true.”

“Let’s set her storytelling aside for a minute. Would you feel safe with her?”

“Yes.”

“Is there someone you could talk to there? A professional, I mean.”

“I suppose.”

“Then it doesn’t seem to me that a few strange stories merit eliminating your aunt Vivian’s as a possible safe haven.”

“I’m afraid she’ll be disappointed in me.”

“Has she ever been disappointed in you before?”

“I’ve never dropped out of college before.”

“You dropped out of your own family, and she took care of you then.”

“I got forced out.”

“Don’t you think she’d take care of you now?”

“Sometimes I like her stories. Sometimes they make me feel better.”

“Then why not go to her?”

“What if the stories mean she’s got dementia or Alzheimer’s or something? What if I end up taking care of her?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to adjust your meds, Tess. And I’m going to encourage you not to drop out of school.

But I do think you should take some time off.

I can arrange for you to take a medical leave.

You need to get away from the stress of school for a while.

Do you want to call Vivian and tell her you’re coming? ”

“She likes surprises.”

“Do you think you can get there safely?”

“There’s a bus. And then I can take an Uber.”

“You might take this as an opportunity to at least reach out to your mother. You clearly have some unresolved issues.”

“They’re resolved as far as she’s concerned.”

“Just a suggestion. Give the new meds a little time. Do you think you can stay here a few more days?”

“If I don’t tell them I’m dropping out, they won’t kick me out of the dorm.”

“I want you to check in with me every day until you’re with Vivian, okay, Tess? Even if it’s just a two-minute phone call.”

“I can text.”

“I want to hear your voice.”

“Okay.”