Big Chill Soundtrack
I arrived home a few hours later, still bleary-eyed with exhaustion and numb. Mother was very supportive. She made me soup, tucked me into bed to get more rest. At some point she brought me tea.
“I made you an appointment with Dr. G.” My mother began the next morning at breakfast, she was smiling and confident.
“Who’s Dr. G.” I asked, though I suspected I already knew. I’d never heard of him. I might be crazy, but I wasn’t stupid.
“He’s a psychologist. A colleague I know of but not worked with. He’s reputation is very, very good for working with … troubled young people, but we have no affiliation so there is no conflict of interest.”
I didn’t believe it. My mother was established in her own private psychology practice at that point. It seemed to me like it was some, small private club, where everyone knew each other. With sleep, I was no longer as numb as I had been, but I still wasn’t confident.
“I don’t think I need a psychologist.” I knew a fair number of her patients. They were insecure or they were nuts, I didn’t think I fell into either category, but then…
“Oh honey, you’re sick. You need help.”
“I’m sick because I hate my school and my boyfriend just dumped me? What were you talking about all night?” I demanded angry.
“See, that is no way to talk to your mother.”
“Why did you keep him up talking to you all night?” The angry tone was growing.
“He wanted to talk to me. We just discussed what was best for you.”
“You told him I was mentally ill and that he needed to leave me so I could get better!”
“I did not.”
“So he lied to me about that.”
“You think whatever you want.”
“What did you talk about?”
“That is between me and him.” Her tone had grown cold again. The maternal warmth all but gone.
“Your appointment with Dr. G is in two hours. It’s in the Fry building. You need to get dressed to make it.” And with that she left the room.
I considered blowing off the doctor, but that would be rude. I didn’t do rude things. I may not have asked for or wanted this appointment, but that wasn’t fair to the doctor, so I went.
I don’t remember much of the drive, the waiting room or even our introductions. I do remember telling him that the appointment was not my idea and I wasn’t sure why I was there. I remember him reassuring me that he had no affiliation or relationship with my mother. He in effect, didn’t know her.
Then we talked. I told him about school. My shock at what it was like versus what I had expected. I explained about D, my mother, why I had ended up where I was, and what I thought I might want to do with my life. He listened, nodding, as one might expect. However, when it was his turn to speak, I was surprised.
First, he explained the process of college transferring. What I needed to do, how and when. I took notes. Then, he looked me straight in the eye and with words that started me down the road of less self doubt said: “You are not sick and you don’t need to be here. If you want my advise? I suggest you run away. This is not what I’d usually say to someone, but, I suggest you quit school and go some where else and start fresh. Get a job, reapply to school, it’ll be tough at first, but you can do it.”
I was shocked. That was the last bit of advise I ever expected. I didn’t run away though. I did tell my mother what he said. It was the last conversation we ever had about my being “sick” and the first time I thought, this isn’t me.
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