I'm Here for You, Always

Chapter 7

TRIGGER WARNING!!! SH AND ED

In his office, I sit on a brown leather couch. As I sit, it sucks me in and I sink into it. I feel awkward and hot.

"So I just want to talk to you a little bit about what's been going on lately and why you think you needed to come see me," he says, crossing his legs and interlocking his fingers.

I put my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers and picking at my cuticles. I don't know where to start.

Wyatt must notice my anxiety because he says,
"It's okay, I'm not going to tell Matt about anything we discuss in session today, if that's what's worrying you," with a warm smile.

I'm still hesitant to speak and my mind is empty.
Why am I really here anyway? Am I here for Matt or for myself?

"We can sit in silence for a little if that's what you want," he says.

I nod my head yes. We sit in silence for what feels like half an hour before I finally have the courage to speak.

"So much has been happening lately. First the car accident with my sister, getting appendicitis, and Matt becoming my caregiver. I haven't been home in weeks and I feel like such a burden on him," I say.

"Has he told you that you are a burden?" he asks searching.

"Well, no," I say flatly.

"So why would you think that you are a burden?" he asks.

"Well, I'm a sack of bones who doesn't have the capacity to get out of my own way to help myself. I can't even put a spoonful of food in my mouth to save my life," I say.

He looks at me sympathetically. "Well let's talk about that," he says. "I noticed that when I was going over your paperwork you noted that you were struggling with anorexia and self harm. Is that correct?" he asks.

"Yes, that's correct." I say, my voice shaking.

"When did you start self harming?" he asks
"Um, when I was 11. That was the first time."
I do the math in my head, I'm 23 years old. I've been doing this shit for 12 years. I really am pathetic.

"Do you remember what was happening when you first started to self-harm?" he asks.

I try to throw myself back to the first time I dragged a blade across my skin. I was upset. I had eaten too much that day and I was convinced that I was going to gain weight. I could not contain my emotions, the anger and self- hatred boiled inside of me. The only thing I could think to do to release this pain was to cut myself. I took one of the razor blades that my dad had laying around the house and went into my bedroom. I remember taking the razor blade and pressing down hard, dragging it horizontally across the inside of my wrist. I clenched my fists, but it felt good. I watched as my skin opened and the blood flowed out. I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

"No, I don't. I've just been doing it for so long," I lied.

"Okay, that's fine. Do you know why you self harmed most recently?" he asks.

"Well, now it's just become something I feel like I need to do, like I'm addicted to the feeling." I say.

He continues to ask me questions and I answer them for the next half hour.

"Okay, our session is coming to an end, but I want to keep talking to you and see what I can do to help. I think it would be beneficial for you to come see me twice a week. For now, I want you to make one appointment for next week and then the week after we'll start twice a week," he says.

Am I really that bad that I need therapy twice a week?

"Okay, sure. Next week at the same time," I say.