Learning How to Swim

“Alyssa-Valentine Roe?” A woman called my name, opening the door.

Dad and Mom ushered me to her, telling me that everything would be okay. I took in a deep breath, following my new therapist.

She had to be around fifty years old because she had a certain Grandma-like quality to her, and that wasn’t just because she had grey hair. Her glasses certainly had to support a lot of vision problems, too.

Her office had warm beige walls, an oak desk, and two comfortable-looking chairs. There was also a vintage rug in the middle. The whole room seemed rather cozy and homely. I suppose that was the point, though. I could only imagine how many secrets she had brushed under that rug from previous clients.

“I want you to be able to trust me. I understand that your parents thought that since your older sister has a psychiatrist, everyone else in the family should go through this with her. I am not a psychiatrist, but I do want to be your friend. This probably seems so sudden and strange to you, doesn’t it?” she asked me, breaking the silence.

I watched her paper and pencil carefully. I had to be very cautious with my words if I didn’t want her writing anything down, so I shrugged silently. She didn’t make any tempt to move her hand.

Safe.

“I see. You don’t think this is very appropriate, do you?”

I grabbed at the vase of flowers on her desk, plucking a yellow petal and letting it drop to the floor. What did she want me to say? There wasn’t much to say.

“Are you sad? Maybe angry? Worried, probably. What do you say?”

“I’m not sad. I’m not angry. And I have no need to be worried,” I told her quietly, putting my hands in my lap.

“Why is that?”

Shit. I stumbled for words as she waited patiently, expectantly. “I should save my worrying for things that I can change. I have no need to worry over Kara. She’ll be fine. I’m not a worrier.”

“You and your sister must be entirely different then.”

I shrugged as she moved her pencil. Fine, we can play this game. All of this information would be going to my parents anyway, so it didn’t matter. They would be too absorbed in Kara to even think about me.

“Do you understand what bipolar depression is?” she asked me, moving her hands to her lap and abandoning her paper. Perhaps she saw that her writing was making me hold back.

I nodded once, glancing at the rug. She wouldn’t gain any of my secrets for her collection. She sighed quietly, leaning forward slightly.

“I want to be your friend, Alyssa. I want you to be able to trust me. But until you do, I suppose we have no more to discuss. I’ll see you next Thursday,” she told me, nodding once as if to say, You’re dismissed. I’ll rip open your heart soon enough and see what makes you tick, I promise.

I stood up and quickly left her office, not wishing to wait for the autopsy results. My parents pulled me in for a hug, asking me how I felt.

I told them what they wanted to hear.

“I’m fine.”