Therapy (Jalex)

Session 1

Patient: Alexander William Gaskarth

Notes: coming in next week

-Dr. Bassam Barakat

-

"Alex, please," begged my mother at the other side of the door. "Let me in!"

It was the eighth day since Tom had died, and I still hadn't left his room since the funeral. All I had been doing was staring up into space, lying on my bed. My clothes were the same as three days before, my stomach relentlessly grumbled, and I reeked of dried tears and bad hygiene.

"Please, I just want to talk to you," she pleaded, patting the door softly.

I remained silent, not able to move any of my limbs. I was still frozen in time, reliving every good memory I've had with Tom. As if thinking about him would bring him back. It didn't, because if it did, it already would have happened, as I had been thinking about him nonstop for a couple hundred hours.

"Please?" she whimpered quietly.

Whatever was left of my heart that hadn't already shattered felt a twinge of sadness at her calls. Who was I to destroy my already broken family like this? I knew they cared for me. My stomach growled one more time. I sighed, the first audible sound I've made since the funeral. My ears embraced the new noise, and my eyelids opened. I peeled myself off the bed and shuffled, slowly but surely, towards the door.

"Yes?" My voice was softer, weaker than I remembered. My hand trembled in the effort to turn the doorknob, and my mom stood there. Her eyes were red and puffy, and more gray hair had sprouted at her roots.

She gasped in disbelief, as if she didn't expect me to answer. "Alex!" she cried, wrapping me in a hug. "Thank goodness!"

"W-What did you want?" I stuttered in a monotone, still numb, but utterly surprised at the physical contact.

"First, you have to eat," she said sternly. "Then we'll talk." I didn't object. Moving cost so much energy, and my stomach grumbled again.

I let her lead me downstairs and sit me in front of a bowl filled to the brim with ramen noodles-my favorite. My mouth watered at the sight, and I immediately started to shovel the food into my mouth. Within seven seconds, the bowl was empty. My mother was quietly observing me, chuckling to herself. Her eyes were no doubt hungry, like me. I couldn't blame her. She lost one son and hadn't seen the other in days. It was heaven just to see one of her boys alive and somewhat well.

"Now that I've eaten," I said, my voice a little stronger, "what did you want to talk about?"

Mom sighed and settled down in the chair next to me. "I want you to know we only want the best for you. Tom's... departure left us all messed up, I know, but it especially affected you." She selected her words carefully, like one wrong word would send me into another isolated fit. Which it probably would.

"What are you trying to say?" Her obliging tone was making me nervous. She took a deep breath. This meant bad news, typically, and even though I hadn't seen my mother in days, I still knew her like the back of my hand.

"I want you to go to therapy and see a psychiatrist."

The whole world froze. My blood ran cold, and I stopped breathing. I really thought I had misheard her, as if her British accent suddenly created a communication rift. Mother studied me, bracing herself for the worst. If this was before, I would've thrown a tantrum. But lucky for her, I was too exhausted to do that. So, I just spoke instead.

"You think I'm mentally ill?" My words hung in the air, unnaturally quiet and collected. They lingered next to hers, my American accent clashing with her British.

"No, no," she interjected quickly, "I think you're healthy..." Her words trailed off as her eyes grazed my poorly cared for self.

"Then why make me go?"

"You haven't been talking to your friends, and I know you probably wouldn't want to talk about it to me or your father," explained my mother. I knew she was kind of relieved that I didn't throw a full out tantrum. Honestly, I would've, but I didn't have the strength anymore. Tom's death weakened us all.

"And I would talk about my feelings to a stranger?" My voice slightly crescendoed, my heartbeat thumping in my chest loudly. I was surprised that I even had a heartbeat. It had been so weak before, I almost assumed that it wasn't there.

"No... Well yes, but you would see Dr. Barakat. He's the best therapist in the Baltimore area, and he would know how to help you!" My tongue was on the verge of spewing out a cutting response when I finally looked at her for the first time. Her hair was bedraggled, her eyes sunken, her clothes wrinkled. She resembled me, but at least she was trying to take care of the family. My mother was tired. She couldn't handle another family war, not right now.

I sighed. "I'll go... But don't expect me to be happy about it."

Mom smiled and pulled me into a hug.

"Everything will be just fine," she whispered in my ear, "you'll see."