She stares me with an expression of pure loathing, her viridescent eyes radiating dislike. They resemble two brilliant, emerald orbs, shining with their own luminescence as if they were a fissure in this reality, a gateway to another world.
I sift through her file, briefly scanning over the various notes I made at our previous sessions. I can feel her eyes bore into me, to such an extent that I am discouraged from putting down the file and looking up at her. I clench my jaw. Ever since our first session, I've always had mixed feelings at the prospect of having to deal with her. She was without a shadow of a doubt the most challenging patient I've ever been assigned to. That idea was disconcerting in itself. She was but a schoolgirl, I've had to deal with much worse than her. Paranoid Schizophrenics, Manic Depressives, P.T.S.D-affected. Hell, I've even had one with D.I.D who had several different personalities. Yet this girl, who hadn't even graduated high school, outdid them all.
The things that came out of her mouth were unlike anything I'd ever heard from anyone before. The subtle smirk she would give me after asking about my well-being or my family made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Her polite laugh after making some quip caused me to cringe. The way in which she would rest her head upon her interlocked fingers and study me with what looked like pity disconcerted me. That vehement gaze with those eyes that burned green flames unnerved me. Sometimes, she appeared to look straight through me. Her eyes masked something, something profound that only she knew. Something so horrible, an idea so appalling that it would inevitably drive any ordinary person to and over the brink of insanity. But if I have learnt one thing from the time I've spent with her over the past month, it's that this girl is no ordinary person.
"So, are we going to do anything today?" Her sweet, serene tones drift across the room, straying into my ears and resonating around my skull, bringing me out of my contemplative trance. With great reluctance, I force myself to look up at her.
"Alright." I heave a deep sigh. "How are we today, Monika?"
I take the cap off my pen and carefully place it on the desk in front of me. Flicking to a new sheet of paper in my notebook, I look up at her expectantly. As always, she takes her time. Finally, she speaks.
"I tried some of the coping techniques you gave me." She places great emphasis on the word "coping", only strengthening my belief that she doesn't take me or these sessions seriously whatsoever.
"You did?" I replied, absentmindedly jotting her words down in my notebook. "Which ones?"
"I thought the meditation was stupid." She states bluntly, giving me an accusatory look. "But, I thought the writing one was quite good."
"You've been writing poetry?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Don't look so surprised." She responded indignantly. "I'm more that just a pretty face." She flashed me one of her brilliant smiles.
"I'm well aware of that." I muttered to myself, looking back down at my notes. "So, what have you been writing?" As if that was a cue, she sprung into action, reaching into her school bag. Evidently, as it was a dreary and oppressively warm Tuesday afternoon, she had come straight from her school to the clinic. She pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to me. Reaching over the desk, I took it out of her hands. Holding it up to the crimson-hued sunlight of dusk, I peered at her minute, neat handwriting. Monika exploded.
"Don't read it now!" She exclaimed, grabbing hold of my forearm and attempting the pull the paper away from me. Instinctively, I jumped to my feet and ripped my arm out of her grip. I stared at her with a mixture of confusion and anger. That was definitely out of character for her. Why the hell would she react like that? Up until now I had played the role of the kind, understanding and good psychiatrist, now it was time to be the professional, cold and generally bad psychiatrist.
"Don't you dare touch me like that." I spat. The girl sunk back into her seat. For the first time ever, she was the one to avert her gaze.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you Monika." To my surprise, she obeyed. "If you touch me like that again, you will be straight out of this clinic and I personally assure you that your parents will be made aware of exactly why. Do you understand me?" I spoke with an intensity I was not aware I possessed, but it did the trick. She looked up at me with a dejected and slightly fearful expression.
"Yes. I'm sorry, Mr Alcwyn."
"That's Dr Alcwyn to you." I asserted, sitting back down.
"I'm sorry, Dr Alcwyn."
I knew she didn't like these sessions. I knew she didn't like me. I knew she didn't really take them seriously. I knew her parents had forced her into them. Maybe that's what had struck a nerve, her parents. Clearly the only reason she was here was to humour them. When her parents (or her mother, her father was away on business trips most of the time) had first come to see me last month, they had expressed legitimate concerns about their daughter's mental health on account of the worrying things they found she had written in her diary. They had promised to find it for me and to bring it with them before her first session for me to analyze. I had said this was unnecessary, and would be a breach of privacy for her. Usually, I would never refuse the chance to see the inner workings of my patients, however, I admit, upon first impressions I didn't take Monika's case very seriously. I've had plenty of parents in the past come to me worried about how their edgy teenage children are posting "alarming" things on social media, getting in fights or just aren't doing well in school. I usually take them on for one session, ask them several questions, realise they have absolutely nothing wrong with them and are putting on an act for attention, and send them away telling their parents they're completely fine.
When her mother came a second time, bringing Monika with her, I had expected to go through the same drill with her. I quickly realised that this would not be the case, that there was something genuinely wrong with her mental state. She obviously appeared to be putting on an aura of indifference towards everything. In that first session, there were several times in which she let her guard down. These periods ranged from a split second to around ten seconds. Nevertheless, the damaged and terrified young girl that I saw sitting before me when she failed to put on that mask of detachment worried me beyond comprehension. Her mother had mentioned that one of the lines in her diary had read something like "this world was forged just to torture me, it's one cruel joke, I cannot even accomplish what I was made to do." I remember asking her how she feels the world torments her. The utterly distraught look that flashed across her face is now ingrained into my memory. One second it was there, the next, the farce was up again, and she was as indifferent as ever, speaking nonsense about how she didn't really mean it. I remember I scheduled another session immediately for the following week. Since then, over the past month, I had been trying to break through her façade of impartiality. Recently though, it had been to no avail, she was clearly a very good actress. This was exactly why it was imperative that I capitalise on this moment, now that she was off guard, and see if I could delve any deeper into the situation at hand.
"Why did you do that, Monika?" I asked, being very careful to make my voice appear as calm and composed as possible. I put down my notepad and concentrated solely on her.
"I just… wanted to get the most… you know… out of this session." She sounded completely unsure of herself, her act was falling apart.
"Monika." She looked back up at me. "That's bullshit." Monika paused, and then slowly nodded in agreement. I pressed on. "Why did you do that?" She seemed to freeze up, her expression was pensive and despairing at the same time, she was deep in thought. An entire minute passed. I was willing to give her all the time in the world, if it just meant she would give me an insight into what was going on inside her head. Eventually she spoke. Every word seemed to have been chosen very carefully by her.
"Have you ever had something in your life happen that fundamentally changed you, either for better, or for worse?" I did not expect a direct question from her, but I went along with it.
"Yes, I believe I have."
"What was it?" I was taken aback. I never answered personal questions about myself from my patients, that was my job. I paused and thought for a moment, bad memories began to flood back into my head depicting the less savory moments of my life. I clenched my fists, my desire to help this girl certainly outweighed my longing to forget the event I was about to recall. Nevertheless, if this was the way she felt comfortable conveying her feelings to me, I would play her game.
"My sister used to have fits. I must have been eleven years old when I witnessed a particularly bad one." Images of her violently convulsing on the floor appeared in my head. I forced them away, I needed to stay professional. "Long story short, she suffered irreparable brain damage. She was placed in a medically induced coma and died a few weeks after." Monika looked at me sadly.
"I'm sorry… I didn't…"
"What's your point?" I interrupted her. She sighed, and briefly wiped her eyes. I noticed she was on the verge of tears.
"So… your sister… what happened… she changed you, right?"
"Yes."
"What if… you found out that… not just her, but everyone. Everyone had never…they had never even…been…" Monika looked like she was on the brink of a breakdown. I felt I was on the brink of a breakthrough.
"Take your time."
"What if you found out that it didn't mean anything?" She suddenly blurted out.
"What do you mean?"
"When your sister died! What if you found out that it didn't mean anything, that it wasn't important, that she wasn't even there in the first place." Monika looked at me with wide eyes and immediately put both her hands over her mouth. I could only stare at her with a shocked expression. Did she just insinuate that not only did one of my most potent memories have no meaning, but that it didn't even happen? I was thoroughly confused.
"Are you saying…" I paused and composed myself. "Are you saying you believe that life truly has no meaning?" Nothing would have pleased me more than for her to say yes. If she did, it would be a simple case of a young girl with a nihilistic viewpoint experiencing existential dread. That could be sorted out with proper counselling. If she didn't, this problem could be even more serious than I originally thought.
"No." She whispered. "That's not what I said." My heart sank. She took her hands away from her mouth. She blinked away the salty fluid now coating her eyelids. Gritting her teeth, she continued.
"You have memory of the event in which…"
"In which my sister died, yes." I didn't want to rush her, but I couldn't help but desire to understand her point of view as quickly as possible.
"But do you feel it?"
"What?" This was unknown territory for me, I had never been asked to open up to a patient like this, what was she trying to accomplish here?
"Her death, the pain that you felt when it happened. Can you remember feeling it?" She looked at me, desperation written on her face.
"Well of course I feel pain when I remember it…"
"No. Forget about what you feel now, do you remember feeling… pain, feeling broken when it actually happened?" I opened my mouth to assert the obvious fact that I had felt sorrow at the time of my sister's death.
But I could not.
My body froze up. I knew I should say yes, who wouldn't feel sadness at the time of a relative's death. That was a fundamental part of the process of grief. I realised and felt the pain at the concept of her dying, but I found I could not recall anything from the event in terms of emotions, I could only remember the course of what had occurred. Come to think of it, I could not even remember with clarity the events that had happened. It was as though someone had taken my memory and turned it into a rushed and shoddily written piece of script.
I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Monika's eyes seemed to light up.
"Can you remember it?" She was on the edge of her seat, staring at me intently. I opened my mouth to reply.
Without warning, I was interrupted by the announcement system, which asked me to report to reception. By the time the obnoxious receptionist had finished talking, Monika seemed to have receded back into herself.
"Monika." She looked up at me. To my utter disappointment, I saw her wearing the mask of indifference once more. I would be getting nothing else out of this conversation. I silently cursed the receptionist who had interrupted us. I sighed deeply.
"We're going to have to end this here. I'll schedule us another appointment for next Tuesday. How does that sound?"
"Fine." Monika replied, once again seemingly uninterested. I was disheartened to say the least, I felt like a complete failure. I had been so close to understanding her thought process. Nevertheless, I had a lot to think about. She stood up, picking up her bag.
"Keep it up with the poetry, I'll make sure to read this before our next meeting." She glanced up at me as if suddenly remembering something.
"Oh yeah, about that, can I schedule our next session for a bit later in the afternoon?" She asked earnestly.
"Yes, of course, how does seven o'clock sound?"
"Perfect." She gave a small smile and turned to make her way out.
"May I ask why?" I called after her. She stopped at the door and turned to look at me.
"Oh, it's nothing special, I'm just thinking of starting a club at my school."
"That sounds like a great idea!" I muster up as much enthusiasm as possible. "What kind of club are you thinking of?" The girl with the long, auburn hair tied up in a white bow pondered for a moment. At last, she responded.
"A Literature Club."
With that, she walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.