“Thanks for coming, I’m Rebecca Martin. I’m a Ph.D student in psychology at the school, and I’ll be leading your session today. I’ll need to ask you a couple questions first, Ms. Smith. Do you feel suicidal? Have you felt any need to hurt yourself?” she dug right in.
And I paused.
“Wait, I thought I’d see a real doctor,” I said slowly. “You’re a student, just like me? Are there real doctors here? Is it possible to see one?”
And the girl looked at me speculatively, but nodded.
“Yes, we have clinicians who’ve finished their Ph.Ds, and if you like, I can re-schedule your appointment if you feel it’s necessary. But usually our first few sessions are done with Ph.D students in their final years of study. It’s up to you, I’m happy to do whatever you prefer,” she said neutrally.
I thought for a moment. I would prefer someone with a degree, but then again, the blonde was very professional and god knows, she’d probably already spent years studying. So I nodded.
“No, it’s okay, today is fine with you,” I said, “If I need someone else, I’ll let you know.”
And she nodded once more.
“Sure no problem. But let me ask you first: Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?”
And I shook my head, “No, never.”
That was easy, they probably asked everyone that.
“Okay, great,” she said, noting it on her clipboard. “So how can I help you today Ms. Smith?”
And the story poured out, jumbled, in bits and pieces, a torrent of talk.
“Well, I went over to babysit, and I guess things got carried away,” I started, “There was a man,” I stammered. “Mr. Parker, his name is Mr. Parker.”
The blonde listened, nodding.
“Hold on, Mandy,” she said soothingly. “Let’s start from the very beginning, slowly. One sentence at a time,” she said encouragingly, and I took a deep breath.
“I went home to for winter break and was asked to babysit for one of my old clients. Except … I ended up falling in love with the dad,” I mumbled.
To her credit, Rebecca’s face didn’t change at this revelation, it remained neutral, merely nodding and listening.
“And the man is Mr. Parker?” she asked, tone non-judgmental.
I nodded miserably.
“Yes, the man I fell in love with is Peter Parker, like Spiderman. He’s divorced,” I said quickly, “Not married, totally single, so we weren’t cheating or anything. It’s just that he’s twice as old as me, he’s forty and I’m eighteen. So twenty-two years. That’s a lot isn’t it?”
But Rebecca didn’t confirm anything, instead just listening.
“Well, how do you feel about it? The age difference I mean?”
And I took a deep breath.
“Doesn’t bother me at all, to be honest,” I admitted. “It’s never been a problem for us, Peter and I get along so well, we like the same things, we want the same things, share a lot of values, and I love his daughter, it’s almost like I gave birth to her myself.”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
“Sounds like the age difference isn’t the problem or the fact that he has a child. So let’s unpack this slowly. Is there something else standing in the way, something else making you feel upset?”
And I gestured with my hands, frustrated.
“It’s everything else,” I said desperately. “I’m here, he’s there, I have to get a degree, my parents are paying my tuition and I’m supposed to love being here at this fancy school, I’m supposed to have a career, be a lawyer even, and instead, I’m still thinking about Mr. Parker and what could be,” I babbled.
Rebecca nodded sagely.
“So you’re here, but you want to be there,” she began slowly.
And I gave out a small, miserable cry.
“Yeah, but I can’t go back home,” I said with a muffled sob. “My parents would hate me if I dropped out, I’d hate myself for letting them down. And who gets married at eighteen these days? Who has a baby at eighteen? I’ll be the girl they always warned you about, the girl who threw her life away by getting knocked up at an early age.”
Rebecca nodded again, soothingly. “I see how you feel, I understand,” she said.
I took another deep breath.
“Do you?” I asked, hands twisting in my lap, miserable. I literally didn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t see how this could end well. But I guess that’s not the point of therapy, a counselor can’t solve your problems for you, they can only reflect what you want, help you delve deeper into yourself to come out with some potential answers. “I just don’t know,” I said helplessly. “I really don’t know how to fix this, how to get rid of these feelings, this hopeless situation.”