One More Thing

Chapter Twenty Three: Therapy

The clinic is busy today. There are lots of new faces, and a few familiar ones.

I've been attending Hazelwood Clinic for just over a year now. It's quite a long time, I know, but my appointments are slowly getting further and further apart. Lydia, my counsellor, has scheduled three more sessions after this one. Then, the plan is that I'm going to be discharged. 

That's hard to believe today, though. I feel alone and suffocated. It's as if my head is trapped inside a dark cloud.

"Valerie," the receptionist, Tracey, calls out. I've been here so long that I know half the staff by their first names. 

I look up and smile politely. Lydia is standing in front of me, her blonde hair shining incandescently from the overhead lighting. I get up to greet her.

"Valerie!" she exclaims, a bright smile spreading across her heart-shaped face. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," I lie. "And yourself?"

"Not bad, thank you. Not bad."

We enter her office, and I slump down onto a cushioned chair next to a ginormous houseplant.

"How was school today?" asks Lydia.

"Not fun," I mumble. "Boring as hell. Only seven months left though and then I'm unleashed into the real world."

"You sound just like my son," chuckles Lydia as she pulls open her desk drawer to look at some files. "Next year is going to be an exciting time for you guys."

I smile awkwardly. Lydia's son, Jacob, is in my English class. There is a strong family resemblance, which makes it all the more awkward because I am constantly reminded of Jacob during therapy sessions. I wonder what he would think if he knew that I talk about my feelings most weeks with his mum.

Lydia runs a red fingernail over the questionnaire I filled out in the waiting room. I watch her as she scans over my answers. It doesn't take long for her face to turn into a frown.

"I see you're scoring quite highly on symptoms of anxiety and depression this week," she says. "Higher than normal, anyhow. Let's get a graph up on the screen, shall we."

After a few clicks and clacks, the turmoil inside my brain has been turned into a nice, neat line graph.

And it doesn't look good.

"That's a big spike from last week," she whispers, her voice filled with concern. "The downward trend we were looking at over the past month is broken."

"Sorry," I mutter, and then immediately feel stupid. It's not like I just broke her best vase or something.

"Oh, there's nothing to apologise for," says Lydia. "Fluctuations are expected. Recovery is never a straight line. I will ask you now though, is there anything you'd like to share with me today?"

I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts.

"Yes," I say. "It's about my mum."

Lydia nods slowly, her blue eyes calm and not the slightest bit surprised.

"She wrote me a letter some months ago," I say. "I haven't replied yet. I don't think I'm going to, but I don't know. I feel like a bad daughter for not replying."

"I see. Maybe this is something we can explore a little deeper today. I'm going to start off by asking you a question."

"Okay."

"In your opinion, what would a 'good' daughter do in this situation?"

I hesitate, licking my already-chapped lips.