Mend My Heart (Currently being edited)

Mend My Heart: Chapter 2

I'm back!!! Okay, so this second chapter is kinda sad and funny, or at least I thought. This was probably one of the easier chapters to write.

So comment, vote and fan!

-Kellie xoxo :)

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“Okay. So, the first question to ask in this process is, why are you depressed? If you can answer that, then you know the problem and can resolve it.”

I looked at the grey-haired woman with square glasses (Diana), like she was nuts.

“Have you not read my file?”

She nodded. “Yes, but it will help for you to say it out loud.” My heart thumped wildly inside my chest. I swallowed, unable to say anything. “Don’t worry, you can do it. And don’t be afraid to cry, I have tissues.”

I mentally rolled my eyes. I was not going to turn into one of those cry babies who do nothing but waste their money on hiring someone to complain to. Not me. “I have—I mean had—a boyfriend. His name was Jake. He was….the best boyfriend in the world. He made Johnny Depp look bad, and trust me, I am all for Johnny. Jake was sweet. He kind of annoyed me at first, back in eighth grade. He was very persistent.” I choked up but kept my composure. “We dated for four years.”

Diana nodded. “I know it was hard. But keep going, it will feel much better once you've talked out what you've been bottling up.”

And then I told her the rest. Everything, about him coming over and me sending him out for some ice cream, how he drove over the ice and ended up wrapping his truck around a telephone pole. And, I am embarrassed to say, I started crying. No, not crying. Sobbing hysterically is more like it. When I had it under control, we continued.

“I feel so guilty. I know it wasn’t really my fault, but why do I feel so damn responsible? I just wish that I could have done something to stop it. It should have been me who died.”

Diana wrote something down on a yellow pad of paper. “All things happen for a reason. You were not supposed to die. If you were supposed to die, you wouldn't be with us right now. So you tell me. Why do you feel so responsible?”

I couldn’t help it, I immediately went on the defensive. “Jake is already dead, I can't take anything back now! Why does it matter?”

She looked at me over the top of her glasses. “Do you think it matters?”

I glared at her. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

She set down her note pad and crossed her arms. “Does it bother you that I normally answer a question with a question?"

A minute later, after telling her where she could stick her questions, I walked out into the waiting room, where my mom sat, reading an outdated magazine. When she saw me, she discarded the magazine and asked, “How did it go?”

All I said was “fine”. Then she was whisked off to talk to my therapist. Unfortunately, they were only in the hallway, so I heard every word they said.

“I’m pretty sure you are already aware of the guilt she is feeling?” My mother nodded. “That is perfectly normal. What she is experiencing is called survivor’s guilt. She, of course, feels guilty because she not only sent him to the store, but could have potentially been in the vehicle with him, and is therefore feeling guilty for being the survivor.” Diana looked down at her pad of paper. Why was she telling my mother this? Isn't that breaking the confidentiality rule therapists have? “Well, she is not too bad compared to other patients I’ve had. Before the accident, did she ever lash out with any sudden anger?”

“No, never.”

“Okay. Then anger is another part of her depression symptoms. Now, do you want her on any medications?”

I stiffened. My mom hesitated. “I would prefer no medication, but if it gets much worse…” the sentence died off.

“I understand completely,” Diana said. “So, just schedule her a couple more sessions with me and I’ll evaluate her and tell you if putting her on anti-depressants is the right thing to do.” My mom nodded anxiously. “Try and get her doing physical activities and other normal things to up her mood a bit. Here’s a list of…” And then she handed my mom some piece of paper, but by then I had stopped listening. She probably just listed all the signs of a suicidal teenage megalomaniac.

Mom scheduled me a few more appointments and then we were off, back into the Kansas cold.