CHAPTER 9
I am shaking in fear. Even though I try to hide it. It has been six weeks since my ‘treatment’ began. A week since I finished writing in that journal as Zach asked me to do. A week in which I have kept re-reading things over and over as I looked for mistakes or things left out and, unwillingly, lived them all over again. I did this in secret so I didn’t have to come over here before I was ready. Though it isn’t that I am ready even now. It’s just that I finally decided to just get this over with. And so here I am, entering his office. I am afraid of what happens when he reads the entries. Would he now treat me with disgust? Pity? Suspicion? I keep repeating my mantra I’m not crazy as I sit on his ‘patient’ couch.
“Good afternoon Jonah. How are you feeling today?” He asks in the same way he has started every session so far. Whenever I was too stressed out to write further, even here, we talked and he distracted me with his words until I could try writing more. Mostly it was him discussing about his profession and what he does, sharing successful cases without naming anyone and about just anything he could discuss. In the last few sessions though, he kept dropping small personal things, still honouring his principal to maintain a professional distance from his patients. Like how big his family was, what he liked, how his hometown Ohio was different from here and stuff.
I need to stop babbling mentally.
“I’m considerably well at the moment.” I speak as a small genuine smile comes to me. And it is true. Even in my depression, there have been some good days, days when I felt normal like everyone else. On the bad days though, I couldn’t even get out of bed. Mom tried to manage but the signs of fatigue were slowly showing on her face.
And I started babbling again. I should just get this over with.
“And I have finished the journal as well. Here, take it.” I continue as I take out the journal from the paper bag I was carrying with me. Zach’s face shines with surprise as he looks at the now complete journal whose edges have bent with regular use. Considering that I had a case of clinical depression, a case quite common in today’s generation he told me, he probably didn’t expect me to be done so quickly. Well, even I can’t believe I am done. While writing, I felt possessed.
“I hope this doesn’t change your opinion of mine once you have read it. I have written it just as you said, filling even my innermost thoughts in it.” I speak as I hand it over to him but avoid looking at his face. If I wasn’t comfortable with Zach, I wouldn’t have even said this.
“Andy turn and look at me.” He speaks in a kind tone after taking the book in his hand. I hesitate a lot before finally turning my head away from his dull walls to stare at him putting the book on his lap. “I promise you that it won’t change my opinion of you. These six weeks have been more than enough to create a solid one that can last through anything. These entries though will help me understand how you are what you are. They are nothing to be ashamed of as they are a part of you. You should never be afraid or ashamed of yourself. Embrace it as a part of your past and be glad you got to see it. Most people don’t even explore themselves completely. With discovering this side of yours, you are ahead of a huge lot of them. Do you understand me?”
I nod but then remember that he likes verbal confirmation more. “Yes, Zach.” It may seem that his words were trying to drill this fact into me but they only help to strengthen my resolve to never be ashamed of my past. A lesson he helped me learn.
“So how has life been at home?” Zach asks and I relax with the thought that he really isn’t reading the journal now. So my voice is a little bit chipper, a clear sign of today being one of my good days, when I reply.
“It’s good. Mom and I have been interacting a lot better than before. Thanks to your advice, I presume, she is now talking a lot with me. Often our talks are of non-trivial things. Like about her job and colleagues. Like about my school and school events and stuff. About college applications. About the applications, she told me to ask you for help.”
“What do you want help with?” He asks, curious about what he can help me with. I smile on the inside as I consider how much he has already helped. My relationship with both of my parents have already improved a lot in these past six weeks. I have begun to see through the haze of anger I held towards every stranger and am slowly getting less hostile whenever Witchbury Falls is mentioned. The bitterness in my voice when I remember people is gone and is now replaced with pity. Kevin was right after all, people there were narrow-minded.
“I want help in choosing my major. I have no idea how to decide which one to choose. I just don’t want to regret it later, you know.” I say frankly as I look beyond him, avoiding eye contact. I may have been talking about emotions a lot but expressing vulnerability still made me self-conscious.
He gives a shallow chuckle before speaking. “Andy, look at my face when you talk. Otherwise it is a sign of lack of self-confidence. And if you show weakness, you let others trample you. Regarding these college applications, I don’t know if I can help you. Give me some time to come up with something alright by the next session, alright? So, how has your school life been?”
Ah, school. One issue that brings so many emotions and memories for me. Both good and bad but all of them now important. “School’s been good. Considering the first week when I couldn’t even look at anyone without wondering if they somehow knew about my problem and I was coming here, I am a lot better. I have some friends here. Not as close as those back there were but close enough.” I never mentioned Witchbury Falls by its name or as home anymore, just ‘there’. It was, Zach said, to help me accept that it was in the past now.
“Mm-hm.” It’s a sign for me to elaborate. “I am not in popular circle or anything but I have friends who I am comfortable with. Being early weeks of friendship, there are moments of uncomfortable silences and keeping secrets, but it seems we would manage to get through them soon enough. We hang out and have fun, no illegal stuff though I swear. Though with the way mom looks at me sometimes, with pity and sadness that is, I feel she would even accept that, at least for a while. The teachers are nice, well as nice as one can expect them to be, but sometimes studying is just an effort. A common teenager issue, I suppose.” He nods in affirmative as he keeps writing in his notepad. It is almost full by now and someday I would ask to see what he wrote. He could be doodling on certain occasions as well, as it seems from the decorated cover.
Before he could proceed in his psycho-analysis, I ask him a question that’s been bothering me for a week now. “Zach, I still have these bad days or moments when I feel nothing. I still believe that I can be cured and it would take time but I see almost no effect of the treatment. I can’t even recognise any trigger that would cause one. What’s happening?”
He seems to think about it and then gives a sigh. The tone of his sigh is not at all supportive. With an expression of unease, he speaks, “Andy, it takes time to heal. It is not recovered from in a month or two. Some takes even a lifetime to constantly battle. Yours isn’t so bad so that’s not an issue. But so far, I must also add that we haven’t even started your recovery.” Before he can even open his mouth to speak further, I interrupt.
“What? Then what have I been doing these past six weeks? I thought the journal writing was supposed to help me!” He, though, does not react but just stares at me with an almost blank expression. He tries but he can’t hide the sadness in his eyes. A part of me notes that maybe he has grown a bit attached to me, more than what is allowed.
“The journal entry was to help me understand the case from your point of view. It was not exactly supposed to help you directly. And listen to me before you interrupt again.” He adds as I open my mouth to speak again. What does he mean that it wasn’t ‘supposed to help me directly’? So why did I bother to relive those painful memories? Wouldn’t it be just easier to forget them?
Unaware of my growing questions though, he continues. “You must be going through a lot of obvious questions like why did I ask you and stuff. I asked you to write all
these events so I could get a different view of your personality. Also, these will help me understand what things have happened so far and how you reacted to it. You are curable. If you believe nothing else I say, then at least believe that. There were things that had to be done before we could begin your recovery. From what I saw from our sessions, you clearly had a hard time opening up to your parents and were clearly reluctant to have any new friends. And both are important to any living human at every stages of life. Look up the theatre actor Alexander DeVoir to understand why. He is a classic case of greed consuming lives. With your opening up to your mother and having some friends in the new school, you are now almost ready to begin your recovery. Just let me get through this journal alright? I will also help you choose your college major then.”
Reluctantly, I nod. “This means some shocking revelations for my current friends I suppose.”
“If you are really scared of being judged by them, Andy, then you don’t have to tell them yet. Someday you will have to but not now. Just hope to count on them to cheer you up and help you on bad days and moments. So tell me more about your friends then.”
“Like what?” That question is quite unclear on what he wants to know.
“Their names would be a start. Characteristics and personalities would be good too.”
“Oh. I have made seven friends here, compared to the six and a girlfriend I had back… no, before. Their names are Samuel Calloway, John Michaels, Alex Rhodes, Peter Smith, Aiden Seth, Melissa James, Simon Layweigh and Jacob Tyler.” My voice accidentally cracks as I said Jacob. I still associated Jacob with the quarterback of Witchbury High team. And then my memories always turned to their abuse.
Without giving him a moment to interrupt me though, I begin to describe them all to him. Zach listens to me patiently but not before scribbling something in his notepad. He never misses anything. Once I get back to Jacob though, I shiver once more but still don’t stop. Halfway through while describing him though, I realize I was now describing the other Jacob and I pause after beginning to stutter on a lot of simple words. And wait the question to come.
“Why did your voice keep cracking whenever you mentioned Jacob, Andy?” He asks and before I know it, a tear escapes down my cheek. I thought I was over this. I thought I was over them. Apparently I am not.
“Jacob Andrews was the football quarterback in Witchbury High. He was one of the few people who turned from good friend to bully when my secret got out. It was horrible.” My voice cracks at the last word as memories strike back at me in full force. I can’t help it. They overwhelm me so much that when someone places a hand on my shoulder, I can’t help but flinch away. Once sanity returns, I see Zach has a concerned expression and that I am sitting in a purely defensive position. With my knees touching my chest, I am rocking in the chair like an infant is rocked in the crib. As soon as I can, I let myself loose from the position but I also feel the numbness in my limbs from my hard grip and the sudden blood flow hurts. But not as much as the memories do. Not as much as a friend’s betrayal does.
Zach clears his throat to get my attention and then asks in a soft voice, “You hung out with them a lot didn’t you? You trusted them. Every group has special hang-out places. What were yours?” A barely disguised attempt at subject change but it works.
“The most favourite of our hangouts was the cliff.” Suppress the memories. Now is not the time to let them hurt. “The very cliff where my secret was exposed. After that was the waterfall.” Where it all began. “Aside from these two most visited spots, we would often hit the pizza place near the school, Parker Pizzeria. It was owned by Kylie’s parents.” Where Dad picked me up after I was beaten up. “And if we felt a bit guilty for over-indulgence or felt out of shape, then gym. The players often also scored their next ‘targets’ over there as well.” No bad memories there, at least. I didn’t show up in the gym after that day at the cliff. “Common teenager spots, I suppose you can call them.”
“And where do you hang out now here with your new friends?” Zach asks and it is absolute silence in the room. Why did he have to ask that? Call out my only lie? Zach was actually staring down at the notes, probably thinking about his next doodle, but upon receiving no response he looks up at me questioningly. “Andy?”
“I…We just hang around several places. Lots of places in fact. Too many to recall. Too many to explain.” I answer in a very fast speed. And then his eyes narrow and I wince. Busted! “Alright. I don’t hang out with them that much. We often hit some pizza place, can’t remember its name, and places like that. I haven’t really gone out that much. Guess I am turning into an introvert now.” I shrug as if it is a no big deal even though on the inside I am already cowering from the blow that is about to strike.
Zach’s voice is calm, in a controlled way, when he speaks. “Andy, have you forgotten the basic rule I laid down at the end of our first meeting? No lies. I could say I am disappointed but I’m not. Being a teenager, even I would have lied at some point. But now’s the time to come clear. Have you anything else to confess?” His words, thankfully, don’t make me feel bad. If he had said he was disappointed in me, it would have been as similar to saying he didn’t believe in me at all.
Looking straight into his eyes so he can see no hesitation, I calmly, well as much calm as I can manage despite all this guilt, assure him, “I swear on all things I hold important that that was the only lie I have told you.” His mask of blank expression doesn’t leave his face as he nods before scribbling things in his notepad. I don’t think he’s doodling this time. Out of curiosity, my eyes wander to the lonely wall clock and am surprised to see that only ten minutes of our session is left.
“Alright Andy, two more issues to touch before we properly begin your treatment in next session. What were your hobbies?” He asks in the small moment in his looks up from his notepad, before being lost in it again. I have to see that notepad to see what he is writing, or doodling, in there. What was the question again? Oh yes, hobbies.
“Things I like doing as hobby are swim, paint, read and hang out with friends. And by reading, I mean novels and fiction stuff. Non-fictional or spiritual stuff bored me to sleep.” I was tempted to add ‘common teenager stuff again, I know’ but I didn’t really know a lot who read as a hobby.
“Any preferred genres?” With short answers like that, we might as well be having me talk at him, instead of with him.
“Fantasy mostly. Science fiction, adventure, paranormal and new adult stuff. If a book goes deep into romance zone, it ends up on the ‘never finishing’ list though. Classics are a strict no.” Some more scribbling. I seriously hope he isn’t doodling. That would be awkward when I steal his notepad.
“You must show me a painting of yours. A recent one, preferably. I would like to see one. No particular theme, just a painting. Preferably not abstract.” Zach chuckles as he says this, unaware of the sudden fear that is now paralyzing me. “I’m not really good with abstract art. You wrote a journal so I assume you can write as well?”
“No.” I wince as I hear my squeaky voice. I clear my throat and try again. “No, not really. That journal was completed only because I knew what to write. My imagination does not grant me the gift of proper wording, something that would definitely make me SATs easy. I wouldn’t have written a page if I had to imagine it all. And…” I admitted in a low voice. “I haven’t really painted since that day. Like at all.” I once more wish I hadn’t promise to not to hide things from him in one of my previous sessions so I didn’t have to admit these things.
“Ah, no problem about the writing one. You can learn it. As for painting though, why?” Zach asks as he scribbles something once again, finally flipping the page of his notepad for the first time in this session, and frankly this is the first time this happened in all of my sessions.
“I can’t really paint anymore. My mind goes blank whenever I look at the blank paper. And even if I try to force myself, I don’t really feel it up to the mark of my previous stuff.
Sometimes I do find inspiration but they are completely lost when I try to recreate them.” I confess as I feel my voice low slowly. Painting was my one skill where I released myself unrestrictedly. And now I had lost even that, it seems.
“I can suggest a potential solution. It worked with a writer fellow I once worked with. Just carry a camera with you at all places and whenever you get a hit of inspiration by something, take a picture of it. It may not succeed in capturing what you wanted but it will remind you of what you were inspired by. If it was a thought you were inspired by while looking at something, then make a note of it. Buy yourself a small notepad and keep it with you at all times so you can write in it. This way, you won’t lose them. Not entirely, at least.” I give him a small smile in return for his advice. It may not work for me but since it did work for someone before me, I can definitely give it a try.
“Now, last issue of today and this pre-healing stage but one of the most important ones. What do you think of all the people of Witchbury Falls? Not the ones close to you, the ones who didn’t judge. I am asking about the ones who did judge.”
“Anger. Resentment. Hurt. And every other similar feeling whenever I think of them.” My voice is bitter as I speak. “They kept themselves, their families away from me as if my ‘situation’ was contagious.” I even make the air quotes with my fingers at the word situation. “They even made little children, of nine or ten years of age, stay away from me and despise me for who I was. There was a fella, Elisan Robert Smith, who once lived there before moving to foster care when his parents died in an accident, at the age of fourteen. People still wish he returns home. I wished it too but now I don’t. Because if he does, the very same people who wished him back would treat him like a total stranger because they don’t know him. And if he cares about what they think, I know they would hurt him much worse than that. Because having already lived there for so long, I later realized it was the obvious response but if he returns, he might have hope for acceptance. Acceptance he won’t find there anymore.”
His reply shocks me as I look for him to acknowledge they were wrong. “You have to let this go, Andy. The people were wrong but that doesn’t mean you should hold them a grudge. A broad-minded man cannot pity the narrow-minded. Or else there won’t be a functional world. To get cured, you must let go of these negative thoughts. I am not saying forget this happened. I am asking you to forgive but not forget. Because there is no one greater than the one who forgives. But there is also no great fool than the one who forgets.”
“I should forgive them even though they broke me from the inside? Are you crazy? Why would I do that?” I almost yell at him.
“Did you mind when they all liked you in a common opinion?” Zach asks and I open my mouth to reply in affirmative, before realizing that I didn’t. “When one praised you to the other in your presence did you mind?”
“No I didn’t. But that was different.” Where is he going with this?
“No it wasn’t. That time, people based their opinions on what people they trusted said and what they themselves believed. This time too, people believed others’ opinion and acted like that. Tell me, if it hadn’t been you but this…” He looked at his notes for something before continuing. “… Jacob Andrews boy, would you not have been acting the same way as them? Assume you never got the habit.” Zach counters me and defensive, I blurt out the first answer I can think of.
“But I did and he didn’t. So we can’t really compare that.”
“Can’t we?”
I open my mouth to say no but I already am imagining it. The looks he would get from others. How others would ridicule him behind his backs. How he would become a social outcast. And in a world in which I wasn’t having this addiction, I could see myself being one of his tormentors. It was just the case of switching positions.
“All right. I will try. But I can’t guarantee anything.” I finally mumble and Zach smiles. The clock strikes one in the afternoon almost within seconds following that and Zach gets up from his chair and begins to stretch his limbs after putting his notepad and pen down.
“Alright, Andy. Our time is up for today but I want you to think about what we discussed. We will meet again next week and I would like to see a painting with you the next time you come here, understand?” His tone is stern but caring as he lets me out of this session.
I nod. “Of course, Zach. I will bring one. Goodbye.” With that I leave his office, sidestepping around a guy of my age with tanned skin wearing a completely black suit and brown hair. His body is well-toned, as obvious from his muscles, and I wonder who this model like person is. For a small moment, I am jealous of how many girls would daily fall at his feet. But then I realize that there is only one girl I truly want and I have already left her behind. I haven’t seen him before in this office so he must be a new patient. Though I do catch his name as Zach greets him. Adam McLogh. Interesting name. Strangely familiar too.
I wave goodbye to his secretary Mrs Robinson as I leave and she waves back with a smile. Angela looks like she is in her forties but has the spirit of someone much younger. We always talk before my regular sessions. She hasn’t been judgemental at all and is a really nice person. She is also the first person I ever met who I wasn’t forced to converse with. We just began to talk – well she started the conversation the first time – at the time of my sixth visit or so. And we never run out of topics to talk. Even mom and Zach agree that she has been a positive influence.
As I walk outside though, the cold air of winter greets me on the Seattle sidewalk. Crossing the road, I suddenly get an idea and walk back to the office building from the other side of the road and then look at the office building. A bulb goes off in my head and I smile.
I know just what to paint for the next session.