Session Two
I told myself I wasn't going back. I promised myself.
Then why am I sitting here across from her again? Listening to her ask me the same question I refused to answer last week, only this time I'm letting her question sink in. I'm actually answering it myself, in my head.
"Why are you here, Mark?" Christ, the woman sounds like a broken record. That has to have been the third time she said that to me. I sigh, run my hand through my already messed hair and look up at her.
"Because I'm sick of..." I pause. That's a good start, right?
"Sick of what?" Dr. Lopez asks, jotting something down.
If you weren't out at all hours, nowhere to be found, nowhere we can reach you, this would have never happened!
I shake my head and hear Dr. Lopez again.
"Mark? You were saying?"
My eyes rest on the arm of my chair, my fingers tapping against the wood, wondering why she didn't have a couch like the shrinks on TV. "I don't know. I'm sick of things being my fault."
She nods and scribbles with flowing script that I can barely see.
"What's your fault?" She asks, putting her notebook away, removing her glasses and looking at me. I don't like that. I want her to go back to writing.
I let my eyes go anywhere but to her.
"I don't know...what isn't my fault?"
She tsks and leans back. "Well how about this whole hand thing? What was your fault then?"
I hold my head and lean forward, elbows on my knees. "My friend has AIDS. He's sick, and...I was out. I took the only car we have and went to dinner with my friend. And he had some sort of...emergency while he was at our house visiting Roger. Roger panicked, no car, no cab money. Couldn't call an ambulance, our phone bill was late so they shut us off...and I had the car. Someone who lived downstairs finally came home and took him. I get home and there's a note, I fly to the hospital..." I shake my head and cut off. Dr. Lopez nods and acknowledges that I've given her enough to work with.
"So that was what you fought with Roger about?" She asks, hands placing flat on her desk. I nod again. "Is Roger someone who...says things out of emotions and not logic?"
I resist the urge to burst out laughing. "The day Roger uses logic when he speaks is the day that hell freezes over."
"Well then why did you get so angry? You know that he says things because he's angry..."
"Why are you taking me so seriously? I do things when I'm angry. Why do I get sent to you when he has the same reactions to anger?" I question.
"Because Roger didn't put his hand through a window and require 18 stitches. Roger didn't sever a major artery in his wrist. And Roger didn't come back here willingly. You do know that you're here because you want to be, right?" She asks, again, trying to make something my fault. It's my fault I'm here. My fault I keep coming back.
"No, I don't want to be here, Dr. Lopez. I don't want to be anywhere near this fucking building, I want to be home, in bed." I grumble.
"What's stopping you, Mark?" She asks, sounding annoyed now. "The door's right there, I can trash your file and we're done."
Emma's voice rings in my ear. Maybe this is the best thing for you right now. Just go and do the required 10 sessions and you don't have to go any further after that if it isn't helping you... Reason. Sense.
I exhale. "I can't do that."
"Why not, Mark? No one's stopping you. This is your choice." She's testing me. I can't handle her, I can't handle all these mental tricks.
"Someone's stopping me, okay?" I answer. "This isn't my choice, I'm doing it because someone asked me to."
"Well maybe you should start doing this for yourself, because you're making this difficult for both of us. And you're going to disappoint this friend if you don't get anything out of this. I know that you don't want that to happen."
I want to reach across the desk and strangle her. But I don't.
"So let's talk about this fight, huh?" She leans forward again and nods.
"I don't know..." My voice is quiet. Reserved. Almost scared. "He was just so angry at me and I just...listened. I let him do all the screaming he wanted. How I was being selfish by spending all my time with Emma, and not remembering that there were two sick people in our house. Because I'm supposed to cater to his every fucking need, God forbid." I bite my tongue. It's not time for that. "So I didn't say anything. He finished yelling and I turned and started to walk to my room. And he just said that it was my fault that Collins was in the hospital. That if something worse had happened, it would have been my fault. And I just...I snapped. He didn't say it...but he meant it. He meant that if Collins had died, it would have been my fault. So I just...spun around and threw out my arm and the window shattered. It didn't hurt at first...till I saw the blood at least. Roger freaked out, took me to the hospital. And they sent me here. Is that enough for you?" I exhale. Weights lift off my shoulders. I can breathe.
Dr Lopez nods slowly and gives me a little smile.
"That was really good, Mark."
I don't want to hear her encouragement from her. I just want her to stand there and not respond to anything I do. I want her to be mechanical and spew out answers. I want her to say words like "diagnosis" and "treatment" and "disorder". I don't want to remember that she's human. That she cares...if she does care.
She looks at the clock. "I guess that's all you're going to give me today, huh?" She asks with a little smile. I nod. "Go home and take that nap. I'll see you next week."
I tell myself this is the last time. But I know I'll be back.
