âHow are you?â The question you hate hearing. Itâs nice people care and all, but you hate answering.
What do I say? Do I lie? Thatâs all Iâve ever done and it has worked this far, so why not.
âIâm good, thanks!â you say with a huge smile that physically hurts.
You know the person who asked only did it because they felt obligated to. They look at you, eyes squinted, head tilted slightly to the left.
Whatâs going on? Why are they looking at me like this? Did I do something?
You look down at your lap as a last resort. Your heart feels like itâs going to explode. You try and calm down, but to no avail. You look up very carefully, theyâre still looking at you in that weird way. It makes you feel uneasy.
Why is this happening? I should just leave, but I donât want to be rude. Why are they doing this?
Then you realize why. Itâs their job. Theyâre your counselor.
They just want to make sure Iâm not going to cut myself open or jump off a bridge. They donât really care. This is their job.
You sit in silence for a little longer while you let these thoughts play over and over in your head.
âAre you lying?â they ask, breaking the silence.
âNo. I actually feel fine. Is this all because of these?â You pull up your sleeve defining âtheseâ as self inflicted cuts. She looks at you and nods.
So if I would have just not told anyone, I wouldnât be here. Iâll keep that in mind for next time.
You look at the clock. Twenty whole minutes of torture left. You look at the person sitting across from you dead in the eyes and ask, âWhat are you supposed to do for me? Are you supposed to just snap your fingers and make all of my problems just disappear?â
If thatâs what Iâm here for, can we just get it over with already?
âNot exactly. Iâm here to help you handle your problems so that youâll find it easier to get through them on your own, whatever they may be. So you have to talk to me. What caused you to cut yourself?â
Do I need to give them one reason? Can I lie my way out of this, too, or will they give me that weird look?
âNumbness.â You get very quiet again.
âCan you elaborate on that?â They smile.
âI feel nothing unless I make myself feel it, and thatâs the only way I know how I guess.â
Why are we talking about this? Thereâs nothing they can do to help me. Iâm hopeless.
Your eyes start watering and you look down again.
They tell you, âItâs okay to cry. We all do. Youâre safe here. Nothing you tell me will leave this room.â
You break. You start sobbing uncontrollably. You feel a mix of emotions that your brain canât even comprehend. You try to talk, but you canât get anything out of your mouth.
âHere.â Your counselor hands you a piece of paper and a pencil so you can write down what youâre trying to say. You think for a moment before writing anything down.
Will they think Iâm stupid for asking if this is normal? They said Iâm safe.
You start writing to ask if what youâre feeling is normal. They read the paper.
âYes, this is great! Some people donât have this happen until a few sessions in, but I guess weâre moving a little quicker which is amazing!â
I donât feel any better than before. I actually feel worse. This is all just causing someone to waste their time on someone who has no reason to live anymore.
âWeâll have to continue this next time, our time is up for today. You have a meeting scheduled for next Monday at 6:00.â Your mom must have scheduled ahead.
âOkay, thank you.â You say this still looking down, face wet and eyes bloodshot from crying.
There wonât be a next time. This isnât working and I donât want to waste any more of their time or my momâs money.
As you walk out you see your mom and hope she doesnât see you were crying. You keep your head down, watching your feet.
âHey!â You see a familiar face smiling at you.
Why is my friend here? Theyâre always so happy.
You smile and wave as if to say hello and goodbye. You go right back to planning.
How am I going to do it? I canât mess up. I canât live.
âHow was it?â Your mom looks at you and smiles through the rearview mirror.
âIt went good...I think.â
âIt will get easier to talk.â
The rest of the ride home is quiet. You tell your mom youâre not hungry. âI also have a lot of homework to do. Iâll eat later.â
Thatâs a lie. If all goes well, Iâll never eat again.
You grab your bag to make your lie more convincing. You wait a few minutes, then you start writing a note. Iâm sorry mom. Those are the only words you could write. You didnât have anything else to say. You look at the window for a few minutes before opening it and removing the screen. You climb out and feel a cold autumn breeze hit your face. Your eyes water, but youâre not sure if itâs from the wind or if youâre genuinely crying. You wipe your eyes and stand up. Looking down over the edge, you freeze.
Is this really what I want? Should I say bye to anyone else? Actually, thereâs one more person.
You think of your friend you saw at the office. You find their number in your phone and hope they answer.
âHello?â They answer.
âHi, I just wanted to say...uh...I just wanted to say goodbye.â Your voice starts shaking.
âWhat do you mean? Are you okay? Where are you?â They sound nervous.
âIâm on my roof. I canât do it anymore. Iâm sorry.â You mean it when you say youâre sorry.
âPlease donât do it. You mean a lot to so many people. Please get inside. Iâll come to your house if I need to.â
Do they have my address? I hope not.
You look around and say nothing. You hear your mom screaming your name. You hear your friendâs voice tell you that âeverything is going to be okayâ and for the first time, you believe it. You look at your mom and cry.
She grabs you and pulls you into the window. She cries more and says, âEverything is going to be okay.â
Maybe I am going to be okay.
