Councilors, such a devious term
You walk into the outpatients centre, and I see you come in and notify the attendant of your arrival. I then gather my notebook and diary and make my way over to you. I say hi to you and make a note that neither parent is accompanying you. Then we get up and go to the toy room where we start our session.
Today I notice a few things about you, starting with your facial expression, you don’t have a smile. You look as if you are disorientated. Your make-up has been cleverly covering up the tiredness in you eyes. I ask you questions and you give straight one word answers. Something’s haunting you because a single tear escapes your eyes. You open your mouth but then shut it quickly as your words got lost somewhere between your brain and your mouth. Then something strikes me as odd. You’re wearing a long sleeved shirt. I ask why, you look down and shed another tear as you play with the hem of the shirt sleeve before pulling it up. What I see is strange. A neat line with stitches goes down from your wrist to half way up the inside of your forearm. Then you stutter about a demon that almost hurt your family, then you wanted to destroy the demon and have now ended up in the psych ward of the hospital. Then I notice you fingering the latch of your shoulder bag, before pulling out a gun and blowing your brains out in front of me. I’m sorry that it happened this way, on this sad, dismal, rainy day.
xoxo
Today I notice a few things about you, starting with your facial expression, you don’t have a smile. You look as if you are disorientated. Your make-up has been cleverly covering up the tiredness in you eyes. I ask you questions and you give straight one word answers. Something’s haunting you because a single tear escapes your eyes. You open your mouth but then shut it quickly as your words got lost somewhere between your brain and your mouth. Then something strikes me as odd. You’re wearing a long sleeved shirt. I ask why, you look down and shed another tear as you play with the hem of the shirt sleeve before pulling it up. What I see is strange. A neat line with stitches goes down from your wrist to half way up the inside of your forearm. Then you stutter about a demon that almost hurt your family, then you wanted to destroy the demon and have now ended up in the psych ward of the hospital. Then I notice you fingering the latch of your shoulder bag, before pulling out a gun and blowing your brains out in front of me. I’m sorry that it happened this way, on this sad, dismal, rainy day.
xoxo