The Story of Griffin Hawkins

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Week Two

Tuesday 

            I rubbed my clammy hands on my jeans before I took a seat on the couch in Dr. Harris’ office. The lights were dim, the walls were bland, but were covered in colorful paintings. The couch was red and surprisingly comfortable. Tissues sat on the coffee table and it made me painfully aware of how many people sat in my seat.

            She took her seat and got comfortable before she looked at me with a smile. “Tell me what’s happened since we last met. Have you started the journal and post-it wall?”

            I nodded with heavy feeling in my chest. “Yeah, I did the journal and the post-it wall. I even got a job.” I told her.

            “That’s great!” She replied. “Before we get into that, tell me the top three things that were positive and that happened since we had our private session.

            I sighed, recalling the types of things I wrote down in my journal. “Well… I’d probably have to say getting my job, going to a party with Kirsten, Kim, and Harley, and…” I railed off in thought. “I guess starting my job too.”

            “Excellent. Are you counting little things too?” She questioned.

            “Yes, I added things like having a refreshing shower, petting my cat, and getting myself up in the morning.”

            “Those are all positive things and I’m glad you realize that. Tell me about your new job. Where is it at?” She encouraged.

            “It’s just a serving job at the restaurant Kirsten works at. She works in the kitchen and got me to talk to her manager, Victor. He liked my work history involving restaurants and basically hired me on the spot.”

            “And you said you started your first shift, how did that go?”

            I gave a shaky breath. “It’s so easy to fake being happy to customers.” I confessed.

            “Sometimes it’s easier to fake it rather than to actually experience it. Do you like it, do you think believe this job may help you in any way?”

            “I don’t necessarily like it, working in a restaurant isn’t all easy like people assume. The hours suck and sometimes the people do too, but it’s money.” I told her. “I guess it’s good though because I get constant social interaction and it gets me out of the house.”

            “Which is always a good thing. How do you get motivated to get up and go to work?” She inquired.

            “I just do it.” I retorted right away.

            She nodded slowly, “I ask because people with depression find a hard time to get out of bed most days. Something you had mentioned before that you do also, but how do you find yourself getting out of bed to go to work?”

            I shrugged, I knew what she was asking, but it wasn’t an easy explanation. It was something I just did. It was hard to suddenly explain why I did things. “I guess…” I trailed off thinking about what really motivated me to go. “I guess in the back of my mind, I know it’s good for me to go. It’s good for me to get out of the house and it’s good for me to get the social interaction. In the back of my mind, I push myself because I need to do it. My mom wants me to be working and I do need the money.” I explained.