THREE
I’m tired of feeling crazy.
On Monday morning, before my first class, I meet Dr. Sanchez at a local coffee shop for my therapy session. They have a private room set up just for us. I hate walking in that small room, but I know that nobody here knows what I’m doing.
“Hello, Isla,” Dr. Sanchez says.
I take a seat across from her, with a coffee in hand. Maybe therapy with coffee will be better. Everything is better with coffee, right? “Dr. Sanchez.”
“How are things so far?” she asks.
“Well, my mother hired an interior decorator to decorate my dorm room,” I tell her.
“That sounds… nice,” she says. She knows me well enough to know that whatever I say next will be bad.
“Yeah. It is. Except everything is pink. I hate pink,” I say.
“It used to be your favorite. I’m sure your mother just forgot,” she says.
“Like she’d put down her phone long enough to notice that my favorite color has changed,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Have you made any friends yet?” Dr. Sanchez asks, changing the subject. Sometimes, we talk about my mom all session, but she says that’s counterproductive. Mostly because, no matter how long we talk about her, nothing changes. Maybe my mom is the one that needs therapy.
I shrug. “Maybe one.”
“Your roommate?”
“I’ve hardly seen my roommate. She seems like a party girl. She’s hardly ever there, and when she is she’s usually asleep,” I say. “I only know her name is Zoe because she has it pinned up on her board. Her side of the room is purple, so at least it matches.”
Dr. Sanchez laughs. “Well, most people don’t become friends with their college roommate.”
I can’t imagine why.
Living with a complete stranger. Having them in your personal space. It’s like they find somebody who has nothing in common with you and put you both in a small space, just to see what happens. If we both survive this year, it’ll be a miracle.
Though, if she stays gone as much as she has, I might just enjoy the year.
“Tell me about your friend,” she says.
“I think I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“Because you analyze everything that comes out of my mouth,” I say. “If I tell you about my friend you will find some way to judge me because of it. So, until I gather more data, I am going to refrain from saying anything.”
“I don’t judge. And stop saying that you’re gathering data. People aren’t computers. You’re getting to know a human being,” Dr. Sanchez says.
“See! You do judge,” I say. “And no offense, but I know I’m crazy. I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“You’re not crazy, Isla,” she says, leaning forward. She does this when she thinks she has something really important to say. “You just went through a very traumatic experience. Most people would be a lot worse off than you. You’re strong. I admire that about you.”
“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes. She is getting paid to say stuff like that. Probably a lot of money, considering she just drove two hours just for one therapy session at eight o’clock in the morning. And she has a two-hour drive back after this is over.
“We won’t talk about your friend,” she says, sitting back in her chair. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.”
“Okay,” I say.
“What about your online pen pal? Have you two still been talking?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Not so much this week. He left for college too, and we’ve both been busy settling in.”
In fact, I need to message him back. I got distracted and forgot.
“And you’ve been busy making new friends,” she says.
I have.
“I’m glad you are making a friend,” Dr. Sanchez says. “It’s progress.”
I think she’s right about that. But I don’t say that out loud. I don’t want her to think she’s right.
“Your mom told me that she put up pictures of you and your old friends,” she says.
“Yeah, she did,” I say.
“Are you okay with that?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve only looked at one of the pictures,” I say. “One of Olivia and me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the other ones just yet.”
Just seeing Olivia about broke my heart.
“What do you see when you see yourself back then?” she asks.
“I see a very happy teenage girl. A girl who could spend hours talking with her friends and a girl who crushed on boys and was carefree,” I say. “Part of me wishes I could go back to that. To be the girl I used to be. But maybe it’s better to know about the evils of the world. I was ignorant back then.”
“You are the same girl,” she says. “You’re still Isla McAdams. If you tried, you could be happy again.”
“I am trying!” I raise my voice, but then remember we’re in a coffee shop. This isn’t her office. I lower my voice, not wanting everybody to know my dirty secrets. “You know I’m trying. I try so hard that it hurts.”
She smiles. “I’m glad you do, Isla. Because a few months ago, you weren’t.”
She’s right. Trying is a new thing.
For a long time, I wanted to give up. And sometimes I still do. But I have to try.
Olivia would try if she were me.
“Hang out with your new friend this week,” she says.
“I will.”
Because Micah, whether he knows it or not, is stuck with me for the next four years. I recruited him. He doesn’t know what he’s in for…
…
Later that night, I get online and finally send an email to Lonerguy279.
From: Pinkstar737
To: Lonerguy279
Subject: RE: RE: RE You’re the only girl who could EVER get me to listen to K-Pop.
Dear Lonerguy279,
I’m sorry for my lack of emails over the weekend. I was getting settled and hanging out with my new friend that I made at college. Yeah, I KNOW, right? Me. A friend! It’s crazy. But I like him. I think you would too. He likes Korean rap, which pretty much makes him my new best friend for life… (Somebody really should warn him about me).
I had therapy today. It wasn’t too bad. I long for the day that I don’t have to go anymore, or at least cut it down to once a week instead of twice. I’m tired of feeling crazy. I mean, I AM crazy. But going to therapy means the world also knows I’m crazy. I want people to think I’m somewhat normal.
I wish I could talk to you about what happened to me—about why I need therapy. But the truth is, I haven’t even talked to my therapist about it. I can’t. I can’t even THINK about what happened. It was awful.
Anyway, I should go. I already have homework.
Sincerely,
Pinkstar737
I shut my computer and get started on my homework.