Therapist 1
“It’s called obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
“You think I don’t know what it’s called?”
“I thought you said you hadn’t told anyone about this.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t diagnose myself when I was twelve.”
“Before or after the fire you told me about?”
“After. It got worse after the fire. A lot worse.”
“You’ve known for two years that you have OCD, and you haven’t done anything about it?”
“I’ve arranged a lot of Legos.”
“Did you know there are medications that can help?”
“Drugs, you mean? Yeah, I know about those.”
“And therapy can help, too.”
“That’s what my advisor said.”
“That’s one of the reasons you have an advisor at boarding school. Yours is Ms. Russell, right?”
“Yes.”
“And she suggested you come see me?”
“Ms. Russell; my history teacher, Mr. Rice; my dorm mother, Mrs. Davis; even my roommate—pretty much everybody said I should come see you.”
“I’m glad you took their advice.”
“It’s just, I don’t like telling people about my personal stuff.”
“If you don’t tell anyone you can’t expect them to help.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Would you like to try?”
“Drugs or therapy?”
“Both.”
“Would you have to be my therapist?”
“Not necessarily. It can be any professional you feel comfortable with.”
“I won’t feel comfortable with anybody.”
“Then it might as well be me.”
“I suppose.”
“Is something else bothering you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because I’d think you’d be happy to know that we might be able to help you. With the proper treatment, we can help you manage your condition, maybe turn down the volume on those voices you’ve been hearing.”
“Yeah, I guess I should be. Happy, I mean.”
“But you’re not?”
“It just that the voices are…they’re like a part of who I am. I don’t want to lose who I am.”
“You won’t lose who you are, I promise.”
“It’s kind of like they’re my friends.”
“But they harm you, Tess. They get in the way of your leading a full life.”
“Yeah, but haven’t you ever had a friend you knew was bad for you? Even though they kept you from, what did you call it, leading a full life, you didn’t want to lose them as a friend.”
“You just described about half a dozen of my ex-boyfriends.”
“So, you know what I mean.”
“But they’re ex-boyfriends, Tess. Even though it was hard, I got rid of them, and I’m happier because of it.”
“I’m not sure I know what happy feels like.”
“That’s something else we should talk about. I think you may be suffering from depression.”
“Don’t you think I’ve earned that after everything that’s happened?”
“Depression is not something you earn, Tess. It’s an illness and we can treat it. If you had a broken leg you’d treat it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So, let’s try out some medication and see if we can’t get you to a better place.”
“Okay.”
“And, Tess?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t say you’d be happy. I said you could be happier.
I don’t like to define terms like happy because they can become unattainable.
I don’t want you to think in terms of any goal other than feeling better tomorrow than you did today.
Do you think you can do that for me? Just focus on feeling a little better each day? ”
“I suppose.”
“I think this is an important day for you, Tess. We have a lot of work to do, but I think this was an important day. It took a lot of courage to come to me. Do you think you can keep being brave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you try?”
“Okay.”