WØRDS [Peterick]

three

Pete joined me on my walk to the therapist. It was the first meeting and I was really scared. I was always scared to meet new therapists since this certain one. It was my second therapist and he made me feel worse than I had ever felt before. He had tried to force me to talk which of course made it even more difficult. He told me it was my fault that I couldn't talk and that I would never be able to talk again if I didn't talk to him. I wrote that I could talk to my mum and grandparents, but he didn't believe me and wouldn't talk to my mum either. I remember my last hour with him where I practically broke down in front of him and he did nothing. Nothing. I had a panic attack. A real bad one. Now that I look back at it I wonder why I didn't choke right there. Anyway, my mum drove me to the hospital after this incident, but everything was alright. We didn't tell them the real reason why it happened and they thought I just had asthma.

But I had to go back there that night. I don't know if this night was even worse than therapy, but that night I tried to kill myself. My mum found me and called an ambulance. It wasn't that bad and it probably wouldn't have worked, even if she hadn't found me. I lost some blood, but not too much and I didn't drink too much alcohol to be more than a little poisoned. Still I had to spend six weeks in the psychiatric ward, which was like hell. They didn't get me to talk either and even the other kids there thought I was crazy. I mean, more crazy than them.

After that I had to go to therapy regularly again and it really helped me a lot this time. I never wasted another thought on suicide again. I still sometimes wanted to die or rather I wanted to disappear. Although all the therapists I went to were really nice I always had to see new ones because no one got me to talk. My mum almost lost her hope that it was just selective mutism, but I could always talk to her, so it was selective mutism.

When Pete and I got into the doctor's office my first thought was how sterile it looked. I wasn't too late but the therapist was already waiting for me, so the assistant told me where to go and Pete where to wait.

The room where the therapy took place wasn't that bad. I had seen nicer ones, but also worse ones. One wall was painted green – the biggest one – the others were white. One of the white walls was full of drawing by probably younger kids – although some were really good. In one corner there were some toys, crayons and other things.

I sat down opposite to the therapist on the wooden chair. Although it didn't look like it, it was really comfortable to sit on. The desk was also made of wood and there was a box with pens and pencils on it, as well as some paper and of course a box of tissues. Except for this one time I had never cried during therapy – sometimes I was almost crying but it never happened.

My therapist was a blonde woman in her late twenties with a lip piercing and a kind smile. She held out her hand for me to shake and introduced herself.

"So, Patrick, your mum told me on the telephone that you have selective mutism, which is the main reason you're here, right?" I nodded and she continued. "I brought some paper because I didn't know if you'd bring something." I had, in fact, brought my whiteboard. "You can use which one you like."

She asked me all of those questions the other therapists had asked me, too. Like what my hobbies where, how school was going. But one question was new. "May I ask who that boy in the waiting room is? He doesn't look like your brother." I really hadn't expected this question, I also thought she hadn't seen Pete, and I couldn't help but blush madly as I looked down at the desk. When I looked up to start writing I saw my therapist smiling at me.

"That's Pete. My boyfriend", I wrote down. "So, you are gay?", she asked me and I just nodded. "Can you talk to him?" I shook my head sadly. "You really wish you could, don't you?", she asked sympathetically and I nodded once again. This was another time where I almost cried in front of someone, but again I didn't.