“I tried to kill myself too,” one of the girls sitting on the opposite side of the circle from me says. “Went at my wrist with a pink razor, complete with moisturizing strip.”
There are some laughs, and it makes me feel slightly better about my situation.
“The thing was,” she continues. “I didn’t really want it to work, and maybe that’s why it didn’t. There were reasons, of course, because we all have reasons for being here, but they got bad because I wasn’t living my emotions. That’s something you’re going to learn, Mandy. To feel. Don’t be scared of it, let it happen.”
Nodding, I take all of this in.
Everyone in our circle goes around saying their name and why they’re here. Some people have issues saying what they did, others say it with a conviction I can’t even imagine right now.
When the meeting is over, I’m pulled to the side by the woman who checked me in here.
“Mandy, I’m going to take you to your therapist. For now you’ll be seeing her every day. We’ll adjust as we move on in the process, but it’s important the two of you get along and can speak openly with one another. If you have any issues, please let me know.”
“I will.” I clasp my hands together as we walk down the hallway.
My mind is spinning, so many things are happening in such a short amount of time, but I realize that this is almost like shock treatment. If I’m left alone to my own devices, there’s no telling what I might do to myself. When we turn a corner, I see a closed office door with a name on a gold-plated sign.
Dr. Annabelle Crawford
We knock on her door, and I hear a come in. The voice is welcoming, not at all like what I was expecting. My only experience has been with Doc Jones, and she loves us all like family, so I’ve always assumed other therapists weren’t nearly as nice.
“Mandy, this is Dr. Crawford. You’ll have an hour-long session with her, and then I’ll be back to get you. We’ll show you to your room then.”
What else is there for me to say? “Okay.”
The door shuts, and I’m faced with the woman I’m supposedly going to tell every single one of my secrets too. She’s young, younger than me, with an easy smile. She flashes it as she comes to sit next to where I’ve taken a spot on the couch.
“Nice to meet you, Mandy.”
She has a seat, crossing her legs, placing a pad of paper into her lap. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here today?”
I struggle this time. Without the support of a group having the same issue I do, I’m ashamed to tell her what I’ve done.
Is this how Dalton and Walker feel? Are they ashamed of me?
My face burns hot, no doubt as red as a tomato.
“You don’t have to worry.” She leans forward, uncrossing her legs and putting her elbows on her knees. “This is a no judgement zone.”
While I’d love to believe her, I just don’t know if I do or not. So I want to shock her.
“I was ready to kill myself in my son’s nursery.”
She doesn’t even flinch.
Instead she gives me a sympathetic look before sitting back in her seat and jotting something on her notepad.
“That must have been a very hard decision for you.”
“Not as hard as I thought it’d be,” I admit. “I always assumed people who were ready to end their lives were completely done and had no one who loved them. I have a ton of people who love me, but I was still ready to go.”
“Why?” she questions.
The answer is right there on the tip of my tongue if I want to be honest about it, but being honest, it’s hard. Harder than the thought of actually going through with killing myself.
“Because I don’t love me,” I whisper. “I lost the baby that was supposed to be in that nursery, and in the process, I lost myself. I don’t know how to get the person I was back.”
“Sometimes that’s not possible, Mandy, but you can become someone else. Maybe you’re not the same, but you can still be a version of you that even you can love. We just have some work to do. Are you ready?”
I think of Dalton, of Walker, my mom and dad, Drew. All of them want me to get better, each of them - in their own ways - have tried to support me over the past few months and I’ve thrown their support back in their faces. This isn’t something I need to do just for me, I need to do it for them too.
As much as I’ve been hurt, so have they.
And I haven’t made it any better. If anything I’ve made it worse.
“I’m ready.” I nod. “I’m not promising I won’t backpedal, because I have a history, but I’m willing to put in the work.”
“That’s all I’m asking for. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. In fact, you probably won’t have the answers for a long time, but if you’re willing to work at getting them - we can figure out what’s going on.”
“Yeah.” A grin works its way across my face. “I’d love to know why I’m not normal, why things like this send me into a place I almost can’t come out of. My husband and son deserve it.”
“Okay.” She grins back at me. “This is what we’ll do. Tonight, I need you to write a letter to yourself, explaining how you’re feeling, laying it all out there. Our next session we’ll discuss the letter, and then we’ll move onto some other things. This is a ninety-day program. At some point, I’d like to bring your
