Stir

I sat slumped low in my chair in the fluorescent waiting room, staring blankly at the posters on the walls. “5 Steps to Better Sleep,” I tried to read them but I lost interest. “Breaking the Cycle of Depression”, “YOU can prevent suicide”. Cartoon people in happy, bright colors danced across the glossy surface as I smirked. I avoided eye contact with other students sitting next to me in the arranged, upholstered chairs. Cheery women wearing headsets answered phones and made appointments behind glass windows at the front of the room. Plastic plants sat on wooden end tables that overflowed with self-help pamphlets and tissues. A small flower pot filled with some sort of beans held a bouquet of pens with different paper daisies duct taped to the ends. I chose purple.

I turned back to the clipboard in my lap of paperwork and little quizzes. Please answer the following questions and calculate your results. My name and birthdate were already stickered across the top of the page. Circle the category that best describes how many times in the past week you have experienced any of these symptoms:

Sleeping too much or not at all. Every day.

Little interest or pleasure in doing things. Every day.

Worrying too much about certain things. Every day.

Poor appetite or overeating. Every day.

Well, that’s upsetting.

“Miss Erin?”

Crap.

I jumped to gather my backpack and clipboard. I shoved my pen back into the flower pot and followed the woman to a small room, dim and warm. There were two large armchairs arranged across from one another on the far wall and small lamps cast a bronze glow onto the ceiling. More tissues.

“Hello, Erin. My name is Laura,” she held out her hand for me to shake. She spoke just above a whisper, smooth and slow. She was older and very tall with short blonde hair and reading glasses.

“Hi,” I said softly and gave her a nervous smile.

“Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll just get started, ok?” She turned on a noisemaker in front of the door before she shut it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish the quiz,” I blurted.

“Not a problem. We can just talk about the rest of the questions as we get to them.”

“Ok.”

“So.” She smiled at me, curled into the chair, and tucked her bare feet up under her. “What brings you in today?”

“Umm.” I glanced around the room trying to avoid eye contact while sitting on my hands. I hadn’t removed my winter coat. “I think I’ve been having some panic attacks.”

She had me describe them to her as she scribbled something onto the margin of my quiz, asking me more questions and circling answers.

“So far from your quiz it looks like you have some high levels of anxiety and depression.”

“Oh…ok.” I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Do you feel happy?”

“Well, I don’t really feel anything except when I’m having a panic attack.”

Scribbles. “Are you sleeping well?”

“I sleep a lot.”

“How much would you say?” She didn’t look at me as she asked. Just poised her pen above the paper, ready to write. I wished there was a flower taped to the end.

I could feel my cheeks reddening as I shuffled my boots on the carpet. I wasn’t sure what to tell her.

“Um, I usually don’t get out of bed until four or five at night.” I continued shuffling.

“Ok.” She nodded. “Have you been going to classes?”

“I try to go to at least one.” I couldn’t look at her.

“Can you remember around the time you started feeling this way?”

“Umm..” My eyes found the ceiling as I tried to think quickly.

I don’t think it happened all at once, I thought. A strange thought here or there, I guess. I hadn’t even noticed them or thought anything was wrong. It felt like a thunderstorm. A few drops of rain every once in awhile and then, before you know it, you’re standing in the middle of the downpour without your umbrella, cursing yourself for not preparing for the weather. You’re soaking in your clothes, heavy and cold, as you squint through the rain imagining and anticipating the warmth of dry socks when you get home. A moment of hope before you grow frustrated with the reality of the storm again, trying to hurry up. Running only makes the fat drops of rain pelt your face harder. Wishing for dry underwear and blankets. Sitting by the fire. Trying to prevent the mascara from stinging your eyes at it runs. It’s a long walk home as you realize this whole thing just sucks and you can only hope it stops raining. Soon, you don’t even feel the rain or cold anymore. You just keep walking with your head down.

“I guess a couple of months ago? I don’t really know,” I replied.

“Any thoughts of suicide or harming yourself?”

I paused. “Um, no.”

She tilted her head and sort of squinted at me.

“Um, well, not really,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well I don’t, like, want to die. I just sometimes imagine myself dying, I guess. That’s probably weird.” I laughed awkwardly as I tried to make light of the conversation. I tapped my toe on the ground and my shoulders tensed. I stared at the floor.

My eyes glazed over. I didn’t want to talk about this. I could remember the exact moment I realized that something was wrong with me. Laying in bed in the dark. I couldn’t get out of bed that day and I was drifting in and out of a sort of half-sleep, scolding myself for missing another day of classes. People do this every day, Erin. It’s hard for everyone to get out of bed but they do it anyways. You need to stop being so lazy. My eyes found the spinning silhouette of the ceiling fan. I wonder how much weight that can hold… I shook my head and rolled over, pulling the covers over my ears. If I died would I be a ghost trapped forever in this room? I hate this room, that would be awful. I’d have to watch other people live their lives in here. If it didn’t work the fan would break on my head and knock me out. I was disturbed that I found this funny. My roommate would find me. I shut my eyes tight and wished for sleep. Maybe there’s a heaven where God tells me it’s going to be ok and I can smile and cry of happiness that I never have to feel like this again. But maybe there’s not and I die and then there’s nothing I can do about it. What’s death like, do you think? Is it just nothing? Like when they knock you out at the doctor’s office for surgery. There’s just nothing and then you wake up. Except you never wake up. You’re just...done... My heart was racing and my eyes welled up. I tried to focus on something else. Control your thoughts. Control your thoughts. Only you can control this. You control your happiness. I felt trapped in my own mind - always going back, fearful and fighting. Why can’t this just go away? Please, God, make it go away. Just go back to sleep, Erin. It’s ok just go back to sleep. I whimpered in the dark. Where do you hide when the monsters are in your head?

“What are these thoughts like?” she asked.

“I don’t know... I just imagine scenarios where I die and then wonder what would happen.”

“But no intention of acting on these thoughts?”

“No... they really scare me. But they just always come back.” I looked down again.

“Do you feel you have a good support system? Friends and family you can talk to?”

“I think so.”

“Did you try talking to anyone about this?”

“Um, I talked to my friend. He told me I needed to learn to control my thoughts.”

“Hm...How did you feel about that?” She gazed at me.

“Um...I just felt like a failure, kind of. Like I hadn’t been trying hard enough and I should be doing better.”

This moment was clear in my mind. Please don’t make me talk about this. The moment where I wished, more than anything, that I could go back to normal. That I wouldn’t be sick or selfish anymore. My throat tightened and I pressed my lips together and breathed in roughly. Don’t ask me about this. We were sitting in the car at McDonald’s. The parking lot was empty except for us. It was the darker part of 2:00am and we ate and watched as lonely cars exited onto the highway overpass. A traffic light blinked red and I stared fixated on it as I chewed too slowly. The street glowed a soft orange under a lamp in the purple night. Cold crept in through the slowly fogging windows. We were quiet except for the rustling of food wrappers. I was thinking - scrambling for a topic of conversation. The silence was uncomfortable and unusual. A few months ago we had laughed and talked all night. He had sung to me into the earliest morning hours. I used to gaze at him till my eyes drooped low as I sat curled up on the driver’s side. I could barely make out his dark complexion reflecting the moonlight, but I could see his eyes sneaking glances at me when I laughed softly and propped my feet up on the steering wheel. He used to tease me for being so small while he struggled to get comfortable in the passenger seat; his knees crammed up against the dashboard. The crickets would fall silent as the morning mist settled on the grass and blanketed the car. As the summer began to chill, though, we left for different schools and I changed. My mind unhinged. Now, sitting in the car, I could tell how different I was and so could he. I struggled to remember how I used to be. Wanting desperately to be that girl again, curled up at my place in the car. But I could only sit rigid. Trying to act confident. Now, he asked me how I was and I spoke briefly with honesty, trying to hide as much of my crazy as I could. I had hoped he would have the words to put me back together but he responded shortly. Telling me that I simply had to make the choice to be happy. That there was nothing to be sad about in my life and I was in charge of myself. I half nodded and thanked him before he asked me to drive him home. “Remember, Erin, you always have a choice,” he said before shutting the door behind him. He had smiled as if he had solved the problem. He was satisfied he had given me all I needed. His words played over and over in my head on the long drive home. My support system had fallen short and my chest was heavy with disgust at myself. I couldn’t stop my life from crumbling around me and I watched, helplessly lost. Stop being so selfish, Erin. You’re pushing people away. Stop trying to burden people with this. They don’t want to hear this. They shouldn’t have to worry about this. I didn’t talk to anyone else about it after that. I didn’t talk to anyone about much of anything after that.

Laura leaned forward in her chair, resting her forearms on the clipboard. Peering at me earnestly over her glasses.

“Erin, do you know what depression is?”

I still couldn’t make eye contact. “I mean...I think so.”

“Depression is a legitimate disease,” she said. “And many people don’t understand it.”

I stared at the clipboard and pressed my lips together.

“It’s actually a chemical imbalance in the brain. Usually genetic,” she continued. “It’s not your fault and it’s not something you have to try and control, ok?”

I nodded and tears started to well in my eyes. My heart felt sore and my throat clenched. No one had ever given me the relief of thinking it wasn’t my fault.

“Millions of people suffer from the same thing so you’re not alone. We’re going to get you better, alright?” She scribbled on a piece of paper.

I folded my hands into my lap, gripping them together, and hunched forward. My coat squeezed around my shoulders and the collar cradled my chin. I was choking back tears.

“So...I kind of have a little team of people with me that I think you’ll like,” she smiled at me with a warmth I hadn’t felt in months. “Anne is a psychotherapist and she’s great. I’d like you to see her and she will do a more in depth evaluation.”

The pen swirled swiftly on the page, looping and dotting, quick and purposeful. The clipboard shook and rattled under its determination. A flower would only have held it back.

“Margaret works in Behavioral Health, which is right next door, and she’s a health coach. We can set you up to have her teach you some techniques to help with your anxiety if that sounds good to you?”

I nodded.

“And I think we will set you up with some medicine. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good.”

“Ok… How about we start with this and then you come back and see me in two weeks so we can see how you’re doing?”

“Ok,” I nodded again.

I felt as if I was melting. The months of hardness that had formed a place in my chest began to loosen. There was a warmth where the cold numb had been in my heart and I felt like I could begin to breathe normally again.

She uncurled from her chair and wandered barefoot over to her desk at the wall, opening one of the drawers to reveal a large filing system. She leafed through, pulling out different informational and self-help pamphlets. Gathering them together and plopping them in a pile onto my lap, she grinned at me.

“So, how does this sound? Sound like a good plan so far?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I smiled shyly.

“When you come back we can make any adjustments we need to.”

“Ok,” I stood up.

She walked me to the door and squeezed my hand. “Alright, Ms. Erin. I will see you in two weeks.”

“Ok. Thank you so much. It was nice to meet you.”

“And you know what, Erin? You’re going to feel better.”

“Ok,” I nodded.

She closed the door behind me as I walked towards the entrance, clasping my papers and pamphlets. My throat felt full as I continued to fight back tears. I wondered briefly how even my happiness could feel so tainted by darkness but right now I didn’t care. One of the cheery women at the front desk beamed at me as I approached.

“What can I do for you, dear?”

“Um, I need to make another appointment,” I spoke quietly and I smiled.

I walked out of the doctor’s office with a tiny slip of paper reminding me of my next meeting with Laura as I wiped the tears streaming down my cheeks.