Dying to know

Meeting Frank

"Sit, please. Make yourself comfortable," Dr. Morse said. He seemed like he was in his late thirties, his hair slowly receeding and I couldn't help but notice some gray strands of hair mixed in with his brown ones.

He had a friendly face with dark framed glasses. I could tell he was already observing me. To see how I would sit down, whether I was gonna check the room first. At least I thought that was how shrinks minds worked.

They'd never told me before.

My sister used to tell me they were just people. To me, they weren't. I have the same feeling about teachers. Seeing them outside of the classroom feels wrong.

"Thanks," I uttered and went to sit down on one of the chairs behind his desk. His practice was decorated as expected. His degree on the wall and lots of books present in the room. His desk was slightly disorderly. I liked that. At least he didn't pretend he had all his shit together. He was chaotic.

After some mumbo jumbo about confidentiality and Dr. Morse introducing himself, the question I dreaded came up.

"Tell me, what brings you here?" Dr. Morse asked. I'd learned his first name was Julian. He didn't look like a Julian to me. In my mind his name would always be Frank.

"My last shrink retired. I tried going without for a few months but my sister convinced me to pick it up again," I explained.

"You've been to a shrink before?" Dr. Morse asked while touching his glasses.

"I feel like I've never not seen a shrink. None of them ever fixed me though, I'm a challenge," I wanted to wink but decided it would be inappropriate.

"My files are probably still available somewhere, I could ask. It would save you a lot of time," I suggested.

"That's okay, I want to start fresh. When you read someones file, you automatically put a stamp on them, you judge them without knowing it. I'd like to start from zero with you," Frank said.

Wow, it seemed as if he actually liked his job. That was new.

"Fine by me," I shrugged.

"So-"

"Right, why I'm here," I interrupted him. "Well, I keep failing, it's getting annoying, to be honest," I sighed.

"You keep failing?"

"Literally, every time. I've tried so many ways to kill myself and look, I'm still here! How can one be bad at killing themselves?" I asked retorically.

"Wh-"

"You seem shocked," I interrupted him again.

"Eh-yes. You're talking about something serious like suicide but you say it casually, as if we're talking about the weather," he observed.

"For me, it is a normal topic. It's on my mind a lot and my attempts keep failing. I know my last shrink figured I kept failing on purpose because something in me didn't want to die. I amused him by listening to him and making his homework but I knew his hypothesis was wrong. I'm just really bad at this," I said with a laugh.

"Anyway, my sister found me once and that's how I ended up at my previous shrink," I explained.

"So... what are you expectations? What do you want to achieve by therapy?" Frank asked, I could tell he was confused. I warned him I was a challenge.

"I guess... I just want someone to tell me that there's no hope. I'm a basket case. I could tell my sister that it was my diagnosis and she'd allow me to do it." I sighed, it was hard to explain the situation, probably because it was so absurd. I'd promised my sister I'd give it another shot.

"Right... you're saying you need a professional opinion that validates what you think so you can tell your sister and kill yourself without someone stopping you?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I nodded. Glad he caught on so quickly.

"I'm not sure I can do this for you, Mila," Frank answered carefully.

"I know that, silly! I promised I'd give therapy one last chance. I always learn from it, it just never fully convinced me yet."

"This is very unusual. I'm willing to help you but if you're doing this for someone else-"

"I know what you're gonna say. But that's my motivation and it's all I can give you," I said.

"I'm surprised by your honesty," Frank said, straying from the cliche shrink-sayings.

"I'm all about open communication. Now, I guess you wanna know about my childhood?" I asked him, trying to make his session easier, since I realised I wasn't his typical client.

"We'll get to that later. Right now, I want to know about your attempts. When did they start? How did you do it?" He stopped himself from asking more.

"It all started when I was 20. I'd graduated and had my first work experience and then I figured that was it. I'd done what I had to do and it was time to wrap it up. I know you want to ask a lot of questions about this but nothing happened to trigger this. No abuse, nothing traumatic, no depression, no fight or loss in my life. It was a normal day, like any other. Something just clicked inside of me. Something that decided I'd lived enough. That click is still there. I'm happy to end my life as it is right now," I tried to explain as clearly as I could.

"And that's when you tried for the first time?" He asked. I was glad he didn't ask me more questions about it. There was no way of understanding it and I was happy he let that go for now.

"Not really. I mean, I know it's pretty uncommon to think something like that. I tried to ignore it but it kept playing in my head. At first I thought I needed to break routine in my life but that didn't work either. After a while I stopped analyzing it. I didn't know where it came from but I knew it was there. I'd accepted this. That's when I started thinking of a plan," I told Frank, who seemed fascinated by my story.

"You were twenty at that time?" he said, surprising me with his choice of question again.

"Yep. Well, almost twenty-one. I really tried to get rid of that thought until I realised couldn't. It brought me a sense of peace. So, one day, after work. I decided pills would be a quick and easy way out. I grabbed everything I had, and swallowed it. Which wasn't easy by the way, I'm not that great at taking pills. I was lowkey proud of myself that I even managed to swallow them," I grinned, "and a few hours later I woke up with a small puddle of vomit next to me. My first fail."

"What went through your head when you woke up?" Frank asked, his pen ready to start writing.

"First, I was confused. Afterwards, I was disgusted because I had to clean my vomit. I gave myself a day to get out of my daze and then, with a clear mind, I started researching ways. I didn't want to fail again. I felt kinda embarrassed, you know."

"So, you started researching. How long did it take for you to try again?" he asked.

"I think we don't have much time left to talk about my second attempt," I said, staring at the clock.

"Right... you're right. We'll get to that next time," Frank stuttered.

"I've tried therapy once a week, once every two weeks and monthly. I have to say I prefer every three weeks. A month seems long but every two weeks is a lot. Are you okay with that, doc?" I suggested.

"If we're going to do this. I need you to not try to kill yourself for as long as we're in therapy," Frank told me, his expression stern yet concerned.

"Sure, whatever it takes," I told him. I shook his hand and left the building. I decided I liked Frank. He handled it like a pro.

Well, he kinda had to. But still.

You don't meet a self-proclaimed basket case every day.

**Big side note: I know this is humor and Mila is talking about this as if it's nothing. This is only the case because this is a fictional story. Suicide is something serious and should never be ignored.