Status: Complete.
Scribbles of a Broken Heart
Compliance
“So, Constance, how are you feeling today?”
I kept my eyes down and answered my therapist dully, “I’m doing fine Ms. Templeton.”
“That’s good. How has your day been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s school going?”
“Fine.”
“Constance, I’ve already told you that one-worded answers block communication. Now, let’s try again: How is school?”
“I’m failing most of my classes.” I refused to look at her.
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m not studying anymore.” I thought that was pretty apparent.
“And why not? Grades are of utmost importance.”
“Not to me they’re not.”
“Yes they are, you used to be top of your class.”
“Well I’m not anymore,” I snapped, finally meeting her gaze.
“And how come?”
“Because I don’t give a damn about my grades.”
“But you used to, why did things change?”
“You know why things changed!” I yelled, standing from my chair to tower over her.
“You have to get over him Constance.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Constance, it’s been three months. You need to let go.”
“I can’t let go.”
“Yes you can. Just try.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Constance, I don’t know what you thought you had with this boy, but I can assure you that it
wasn’t love.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I did and did not have with him!”
“You are way too young, you don’t know what those feelings are yet.”
“And here we go again.”
“Constance, I know it was very hard for you-“
“Shut up! I’m so sick of you telling me how my life is. How I feel or should feel. Stop dictating my life.”
“Aren’t you tired of this week after week? You acting like this isn’t going to solve anything.”
“There isn’t a problem to solve," I refuted.
“Then how do you explain your wrists?” She took a quick glance at my scarred arms.
I quietly sat down, “It wasn’t like I was trying to kill myself.”
She took of her gold-rimmed glasses and leaned closer to me. “Than what were you trying to do?”
“I just wanted to escape.”
“Escape from what?”
“Everyone,” I honestly replied without thinking. I saw her scribble that down in her notebook, and grimaced.
“And why do you want to escape from them?”
“They don’t understand.”
"What don’t they understand?”
“They don’t know why I hurt so much. They don’t understand how much I loved him.”
“Constance-“
“If you’re going to tell me that it wasn’t love, you’re wasting your breath. You—everyone—keeps saying that I don’t know what love is. They keep saying that I’m too young, that I had no clue what I was talking about. But I know what I felt. And no one, no one is going to take that feeling away from me.”
Ms. Templeton took a big sigh before putting her glasses back on. “Both you and I know that we are getting no were in your case. So, I’ll make you a deal.” She paused to let her words sink in, “If you tell me the whole story—when you met him and how you fell in love with him and so on—and I believe that what you had was real, I’ll consider talking your parents into shortening your therapy.”
“Why would you do that?” I wondered skeptically.
“Because for the last few weeks I haven’t been able to get you to open up; I need you to for a full evaluation. Until I fully assess you, I can’t give your parents a verdict.”
“Fine,” I agreed. I wanted to spend the least amount of time with this woman. I took a deep breath before telling my tale; a little story about a sweet romance with the boy-next-door, and how I fell in love with that boy…if only the ending sounded as happy.
I kept my eyes down and answered my therapist dully, “I’m doing fine Ms. Templeton.”
“That’s good. How has your day been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s school going?”
“Fine.”
“Constance, I’ve already told you that one-worded answers block communication. Now, let’s try again: How is school?”
“I’m failing most of my classes.” I refused to look at her.
“Why is that?”
“Because I’m not studying anymore.” I thought that was pretty apparent.
“And why not? Grades are of utmost importance.”
“Not to me they’re not.”
“Yes they are, you used to be top of your class.”
“Well I’m not anymore,” I snapped, finally meeting her gaze.
“And how come?”
“Because I don’t give a damn about my grades.”
“But you used to, why did things change?”
“You know why things changed!” I yelled, standing from my chair to tower over her.
“You have to get over him Constance.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Constance, it’s been three months. You need to let go.”
“I can’t let go.”
“Yes you can. Just try.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Constance, I don’t know what you thought you had with this boy, but I can assure you that it
wasn’t love.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I did and did not have with him!”
“You are way too young, you don’t know what those feelings are yet.”
“And here we go again.”
“Constance, I know it was very hard for you-“
“Shut up! I’m so sick of you telling me how my life is. How I feel or should feel. Stop dictating my life.”
“Aren’t you tired of this week after week? You acting like this isn’t going to solve anything.”
“There isn’t a problem to solve," I refuted.
“Then how do you explain your wrists?” She took a quick glance at my scarred arms.
I quietly sat down, “It wasn’t like I was trying to kill myself.”
She took of her gold-rimmed glasses and leaned closer to me. “Than what were you trying to do?”
“I just wanted to escape.”
“Escape from what?”
“Everyone,” I honestly replied without thinking. I saw her scribble that down in her notebook, and grimaced.
“And why do you want to escape from them?”
“They don’t understand.”
"What don’t they understand?”
“They don’t know why I hurt so much. They don’t understand how much I loved him.”
“Constance-“
“If you’re going to tell me that it wasn’t love, you’re wasting your breath. You—everyone—keeps saying that I don’t know what love is. They keep saying that I’m too young, that I had no clue what I was talking about. But I know what I felt. And no one, no one is going to take that feeling away from me.”
Ms. Templeton took a big sigh before putting her glasses back on. “Both you and I know that we are getting no were in your case. So, I’ll make you a deal.” She paused to let her words sink in, “If you tell me the whole story—when you met him and how you fell in love with him and so on—and I believe that what you had was real, I’ll consider talking your parents into shortening your therapy.”
“Why would you do that?” I wondered skeptically.
“Because for the last few weeks I haven’t been able to get you to open up; I need you to for a full evaluation. Until I fully assess you, I can’t give your parents a verdict.”
“Fine,” I agreed. I wanted to spend the least amount of time with this woman. I took a deep breath before telling my tale; a little story about a sweet romance with the boy-next-door, and how I fell in love with that boy…if only the ending sounded as happy.