Correcting Autumn
The First Session
I knew what I’d done as soon as the door closed. There was no going back. I had blabbed my darkest secret to a woman I knew I shouldn’t have trusted. That’s why she sent me here. She said I needed help and rehab was the only place she knew would “fix” me. So, I’m sitting here, in a small, puke green colored room filled with boring posters meant for inspiration. The only person I have to talk to is a therapist who’s only concerned with “How does that make you feel?” She thinks she knows why I did it. She’s a real…
“Autumn? Autumn, sweetie, you need to concentrate. I’m here to help you. There is nothing to be afraid of. You can tell me anything. I’m not allowed to tell anybody what happens in these walls.” She pauses. “Now, how about we start by telling me what comes to mind when I say the following words. Can you do that?” I nod. “Alright, let’s start with family.”
Is she kidding me? They’re the reason I’m here. They’re the reason I did it. They were never around when I needed them. They weren’t around when my friends were spreading rumors. No, they helped with the rumors. What is a family anyway? To me, it’s simply a punishment for being born. I was lucky enough to be born into a family that didn’t want me. I’m nothing like them. I’m what you would call a black sheep. I’m too smart for their conversations, so I have to dumb myself down just to talk to them. I’m a “freak” to them because I liked school and reading. I wasn’t friends with the popular group. I liked wearing black. To them, I was gothic. I was “emo”. The day I bought my first Korn album, “See You On The Other Side”, just put all the pieces together. So miss therapist, you want to know what word comes to my mind when you say family?
“Castigation.”
The look on her face is priceless.
“Are you sure that’s the word you’d use? That’s an awfully big word, are you sure you understand the meaning?”
Do I look ignorant to her? Is it the blonde hair? Maybe she doesn’t know what it means.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, who am I to judge, right?” Dimwit. “The next word is father.”
So many words could describe dear old dad, criminal, deadbeat, insecure, etc. My father was a decent man to strangers, when he wasn’t conning them out of their money. When it came to his children, however, we were another sad excuse for his life being a living Hell. He’s been in prison for years, and when he’s finally released, he doesn’t give me so much as a phone call, unless, of course, he wants money or a place to stay. I can’t offer him that, so he shut me out of his life. He doesn’t even deserve the title of “father”. He has four daughters and I’m the only that still talks to him. At least, the only one that tries. I can only choose one word.
“Pathetic.”
I wonder if she’s aware of this pattern.
“If you’re not willing to take this seriously, we can just stop.”
That’s tempting.
“No complaints here.”
I can tell she’s aggravated with me already.
“Tell me about your friends. What are they like?”
What friends? Friends only stay long enough to take and then they turn their back on you. They shove you in the dirt and expect you to take the fall for all of their mistakes. They ignore you for weeks at a time, and when confronted, the only excuse they have is “You depress me”. They lie to you and spread vicious rumors behind your back. They’re the ultimate story tellers.
“They’re non-existent.”
This is where she glances at her watch to see when she can get out of here and tell her friends how horrible a life she must have. I would gladly trade places with her any day. I wonder what it’s like to have everything and want for nothing. What’s it like to always be happy? I’ve never been happy. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was.
“Okay, well if you’re not going to give me your full attention, at least answer one question for me. What made you so traumatized that you felt you needed to cut yourself?”
The question they’ve all asked and never gotten an answer to. Should I lie and tell her my boyfriend dumped me? That’s the answer they’re always expecting. Maybe I should tell her I’m cutting away the imperfections I see every time I look in the mirror. Would that satisfy her? I doubt it. Here I am, looking around the room in search of a suitable answer. The clock says we have one minute left to this little tête-à-tête. It shouldn’t be too hard, really. She wants to get out of here just as much as I do. There’s a poster hanging on the wall, just above her head. It’s a picture of a boy that has skinned his knee, probably running in the summer heat with his friends, and right underneath the image is a quote stating “Life is simple, it’s just not easy.” Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that growing up? With that, I found an answer that she’ll think about for our session on Tuesday.
“Life.”
“Autumn? Autumn, sweetie, you need to concentrate. I’m here to help you. There is nothing to be afraid of. You can tell me anything. I’m not allowed to tell anybody what happens in these walls.” She pauses. “Now, how about we start by telling me what comes to mind when I say the following words. Can you do that?” I nod. “Alright, let’s start with family.”
Is she kidding me? They’re the reason I’m here. They’re the reason I did it. They were never around when I needed them. They weren’t around when my friends were spreading rumors. No, they helped with the rumors. What is a family anyway? To me, it’s simply a punishment for being born. I was lucky enough to be born into a family that didn’t want me. I’m nothing like them. I’m what you would call a black sheep. I’m too smart for their conversations, so I have to dumb myself down just to talk to them. I’m a “freak” to them because I liked school and reading. I wasn’t friends with the popular group. I liked wearing black. To them, I was gothic. I was “emo”. The day I bought my first Korn album, “See You On The Other Side”, just put all the pieces together. So miss therapist, you want to know what word comes to my mind when you say family?
“Castigation.”
The look on her face is priceless.
“Are you sure that’s the word you’d use? That’s an awfully big word, are you sure you understand the meaning?”
Do I look ignorant to her? Is it the blonde hair? Maybe she doesn’t know what it means.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, who am I to judge, right?” Dimwit. “The next word is father.”
So many words could describe dear old dad, criminal, deadbeat, insecure, etc. My father was a decent man to strangers, when he wasn’t conning them out of their money. When it came to his children, however, we were another sad excuse for his life being a living Hell. He’s been in prison for years, and when he’s finally released, he doesn’t give me so much as a phone call, unless, of course, he wants money or a place to stay. I can’t offer him that, so he shut me out of his life. He doesn’t even deserve the title of “father”. He has four daughters and I’m the only that still talks to him. At least, the only one that tries. I can only choose one word.
“Pathetic.”
I wonder if she’s aware of this pattern.
“If you’re not willing to take this seriously, we can just stop.”
That’s tempting.
“No complaints here.”
I can tell she’s aggravated with me already.
“Tell me about your friends. What are they like?”
What friends? Friends only stay long enough to take and then they turn their back on you. They shove you in the dirt and expect you to take the fall for all of their mistakes. They ignore you for weeks at a time, and when confronted, the only excuse they have is “You depress me”. They lie to you and spread vicious rumors behind your back. They’re the ultimate story tellers.
“They’re non-existent.”
This is where she glances at her watch to see when she can get out of here and tell her friends how horrible a life she must have. I would gladly trade places with her any day. I wonder what it’s like to have everything and want for nothing. What’s it like to always be happy? I’ve never been happy. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was.
“Okay, well if you’re not going to give me your full attention, at least answer one question for me. What made you so traumatized that you felt you needed to cut yourself?”
The question they’ve all asked and never gotten an answer to. Should I lie and tell her my boyfriend dumped me? That’s the answer they’re always expecting. Maybe I should tell her I’m cutting away the imperfections I see every time I look in the mirror. Would that satisfy her? I doubt it. Here I am, looking around the room in search of a suitable answer. The clock says we have one minute left to this little tête-à-tête. It shouldn’t be too hard, really. She wants to get out of here just as much as I do. There’s a poster hanging on the wall, just above her head. It’s a picture of a boy that has skinned his knee, probably running in the summer heat with his friends, and right underneath the image is a quote stating “Life is simple, it’s just not easy.” Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that growing up? With that, I found an answer that she’ll think about for our session on Tuesday.
“Life.”