Fragmented ✔️

27. Gold ties

"Have a great break, everyone. See you in the New Year." Helen patted her clipboard on her thigh and watched as most of the group headed straight for the exit instead of the refreshment table. "Beatrice, could I see you a moment?"

I turned to Matt, my eyes wide, and asked him to wait outside. My chest tightened with each step closer. Being singled out by Helen was never for a catch-up. Something I had said, or inadvertently done, had landed me in this position and I mentally scolded myself. Where had I gone wrong?

"Don't look so scared. It's nothing bad." She wandered over to the window and motioned for me to follow her. "Lovely sharing today, Beatrice. You've come a long way and should be proud of your progress." She paused for a moment and my stomach knotted as I awaited her next sentence. The crease in her forehead twitched and I could tell I wouldn't like her follow-up statement.

"Dr Westcott called–"

There it was. My temples throbbed and my neck tensed as soon as his name was mentioned. Nothing good ever came from that name.

"–and we both agreed that you should move from the group sessions to one-on-one therapy."

"But, you just said I was making progress. It's working."

"You are but we–, I feel you would benefit more from individual sessions."

"Why?" Matt and I had been so happy that morning. He was staying over at my house for Christmas and all that excitement I carried into my therapy group evaporated.

She moved around me and turned her back to a couple of people lingering in the room. "I'm afraid you're learning to mask your grief instead of tackling the root of the problem. In the group sessions, I simply don't have enough time to dig deeper on each individual patient. You came to me as a step into therapy and I feel you're ready for more. Of course, we can't force you, but please think about it."

I let myself down when I brought up the rafting trip to Wales. It had to be that. If only I had sent her the links to my research about high-risk activities. Did Matt tell her about Halloween night? Or did my mum call Dr Westcott about the nightmares that had yet to stop? I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. Just when I thought I was getting better.

"This isn't bad news, Beatrice. Most of the people here also see me outside of the group or have done in the past. Wouldn't it be nice to sit in the front of a car again or visit your old work colleagues at the hospital?"

"That would be nice." My voice cracked, and I finally opened my eyes again. Helen wanted to help, but all I heard were negative points. Masking my grief. More intense therapy. I wasn't better.

"I believe we're close to that breakthrough if we put a little more work in." She lightly squeezed my elbow. "Enjoy your break with your family and when we open again in the new year, call the clinic. I've pencilled in the times I can see you, or you could go to one of my colleagues if you prefer? Dr Westcott has your referral waiting on file so everything is set up and ready to go."

My bones ached and my head hurt from all this new information. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and barely nodded my acknowledgement before walking back to Matt.

"What did she want?" He grabbed my bag off my shoulder and linked his fingers with mine.

I glanced past him, back into the room towards Helen who had moved on to another victim, and gave a half shrug. What could I say to him? I didn't want to put a dampener on our first Christmas together, so I lied. Lying was easier.

When I turned to him, I plastered a big fake smile on my face and pushed all my worries down. "Just to congratulate me on my progress. Come on, let's go. My parents are waiting."