Chapter Eleven: Catching My Breath:
Regina had never liked the idea of therapy. Thinking back on it, this made a degree of sense, as her parents were firmly in the why-would-you-need-to-pay-money-to-talk-to-someone-unless-there's-something-really-wrong-with-you camp. She knew this made them extremely old-fashioned, but for a long time, she had admired their anti-over-diagnosis/pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps stance. This was, of course, before she got hit by a bus. Even when Henry suggested therapy after discovering Regina's internet history mostly consisted of horrendous bus-related accidents, it came off as more of a taunt than anything else.
Therapy always made Regina think of her older cousin, Ricky, who allegedly had at least five different mental illnesses (although Henry was positive that at least four of them were made up by his histrionic parents). Every time his family visited (fortunately, an incredibly rare occasion as they lived out of state), Ricky came equipped with both a new set of problems and a new ineffective therapist. Regina's Aunt Lucille was, in fact, so devastated by all of her son's special needs that she herself saw a therapist every other week.
"I just don't get it," Henry had said on multiple occasions. "Lucille and I were raised in the same house with the same parents and I sure as hell don't need therapy! She needs to get the hell over herself! She's just being histrionic, that's all. All that's wrong with Ricky is that she coddles the poor kid too much." The ironic part of this statement, Regina later noted in high school AP psych, was that "Histrionic Personality Disorder" was a legitimate diagnosis. Regina hated to admit it, but she and Kylie had not been kind to Ricky either. In fact, "just don't end up like Ricky," was one of her family's longest-running inside jokes.
Post-bus-accident was definitely less of a laughing matter. Actually, she had adjusted normally once the sedatives wore off and determinedly took everything in physical therapy in stride – mostly because she wanted to be around to earn the Spring Fling crown. It was only after the Spring Formal that she had sunk into a deep depression and had become obsessed with bus accidents online. "I just don't want them labeling my daughter," Henry said in a harsh whisper after another day of Regina staying cooped up in her room. "There's nothing WRONG with her!"
"She seems depressed," Angela said.
"Seems depressed? Well, of course she seems depressed!" Henry replied, his voice rising. "She was hit by a bus! It's totally normal for her to be bummed out about it!"
During senior year of high school, Regina had been summoned to the guidance counselor several times to discuss her feelings. While the guidance counselor had listened intently, Regina noted that she hadn't done much else – she wasn't awful, but certainly not helpful either. Then again, Regina had to admit that she had hardly been honest because at that point, she really hadn't been ready to talk about it.
But she was ready to talk about it now. As she waited for her free therapy session with the health clinic's counselor, she nervously went through everything she was going to say. Of course, at the back of her mind, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was giving up, admitting weakness, disappointing her father and worst of all, turning into Ricky. Lots of normal people are in therapy, she thought to herself, glancing at the tense faces of other students in the waiting room. After all, Karen had a therapist. Then again, Regina suddenly remembered, Karen was Bulimic and had been since freshman year of high school. No matter how many times Regina reminded herself of this fact, she still couldn't manage to wrap her mind around it. Karen did seem to be improving, as far as Regina was concerned. Then again, she reasoned, how well did she really know Karen if she hadn't picked up on her vomiting habit after three years of Plasticshood?
"Regina?" Regina looked up to see a young woman with stylish hair and horn-rimmed glasses who couldn't have been much older than most of the students at Oberlin. "I'm Dr. Robinson. You can call me Heather, though. Or not. Your choice."
Regina followed Dr. Robinson/Heather into her office. "Um, how old are you?" she asked.
Dr. Robinson chuckled. "Damn, I get that one a lot. How old do you think I am?"
"I don't know," Regina said, annoyance beginning to bubble in her chest. "Maybe like twenty?"
"Eh, close enough. I am a twenty-something, so you're in the right ball park. Or at least I was last year." She shrugged good-naturedly. "But you know, age is just a number and all that. Or at least that's what all you teens and twenty-somethings like to say. It gets a bit harder to swallow once you reach thirty. Anyway, what brings you here today?"
Regina blinked. This was certainly not going the way she had expected. She knew she had a speech all planned out, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember any of it. "Um…well, I guess I just wanted to say first that I don't really like therapists."
Heather took a huge sip from her water bottle and nodded. "I get that one a lot too," she said. "Actually, do you want to know a dirty little secret?"
Regina wasn't sure that she did, but she gave a small nod anyway.
"I don't like therapists either," said Heather. "That's actually one of the reasons I went into it. Because I wanted to be different than all those therapists you see in the movies. I mean, don't get me wrong. I know a ton of really great therapists, but I also know we can be intimidating as hell. And you thought dentists had it bad," she clicked her tongue and laughed at her own joke, which was annoying, but also strangely endearing. Actually, she reminded Regina quite a bit of Mrs. Norbury. Oddly enough, Regina could never really bring herself to dislike Mrs. Norbury even post-assembly. She had always seemed so refreshingly real in comparison to the rest of North Shore's staff.
"But, anyway," Heather continued, "You're here today even though you dislike therapists and I think that takes a lot of courage."
Regina flushed slightly. "Thank you," she muttered.
"So what would you like to talk about?" asked Heather. "Please know that everything we discuss in here is confidential unless you seem like you're a threat to yourself."
"Well," said Regina. "I guess I just…I think I might be a horrible person." She suddenly worried that this admission would send warning signals to Heather. Doesn't calling yourself a horrible person sound the slightest bit suicidal? Thankfully, Heather didn't even blink.
"Hm, having just met you, I doubt that," replied Heather. "I mean, sure, there ARE horrible people out there, but 99.9% of the people I meet in this office are not in that category. Why do you think you might be a horrible person?"
Regina took a deep breath. "It's such a long story," she said.
"Well, then, I guess we better get comfortable," Heather said. "Luckily for you, I like long stories."
Regina explained everything – her former life as a bully, her current lack of friends, her nightmares, her beyond awful Thanksgiving Break and her tendency to read through blogs about all the amazing things every other bus victim seemed to be accomplishing.
"Aw," Heather said, nodding like a bobble-head. "So a near death experience."
"No, not NEAR death. An actual death experience."
Heather nodded again. "You know, I've always thought the worst thing you could tell someone who has been through a near-death – or an actual death experience," she clarified, "is that she should be living life to its fullest and not taking a single second for granted."
"Right," Regina said, relieved that at least one other person shared this view. "I mean, how am I supposed to do that when I'm afraid all the time and I can't sleep and I can barely even talk to anyone anymore without feeling like a total freak?"
"It seems like such a nice thought, doesn't it?" said Heather. "That once you've almost died – or died and come back, in your case – you have this new lease on life and you're just so grateful every single morning that you wake up because you're still here."
Regina cringed. "Yeah, it sounds nice. But it's bullshit. I feel like complete garbage every time I wake up in the morning and find out that I'm still here." Once again, she felt a flash of anxiety. Did that sound suicidal?
"No, I totally agree," said Heather. "It's complete and utter bullshit! I've seen a lot of patients come through here who were in the army or who survived an over-dose – even a few suicide attempts and, yeah, some of them are grateful. But," she added, looking Regina straight in the eye. "There are a lot of other emotions too. There's a lot of guilt and anger and fear and depression and I think making people feel bad for not living life to the fullest only makes things worse."
"Yes!" Regina practically shouted. "That's exactly it! You sound like you're speaking from experience," she added, even though she knew therapists rarely talked about their own problems.
Heather, however, did not admonish her for asking personal information. She shook her head. "I've never been through anything like that personally," she said, "which is one reason I have so much admiration for people who did. Although," she added, "I'm definitely not immune to the whole YOLO thing. Like, don't get me wrong: I love my job and I love making a difference in young people's lives, but I still sometimes worry about not making every moment count. Like after work tonight? I'll probably just curl up on my couch and read People Magazine. And last weekend, I stayed in and watched old Survivor episodes instead of going sky-diving or something."
Regina chuckled and before she knew it, she was laughing so hard tears ran down her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "Sorry," she said.
"No worries," Heather replied, handing her a tissue. "I much prefer it when people cry from laughing than just well…crying."
They were quiet for a moment. "But, shouldn't I be over it by now?" Regina finally asked. "I mean, it's been almost two years."
"Everyone is different," Heather said. "I don't know. You might never get over it. You were hit by a bus, Regina. You were dead. You can't expect healing to be easy."
"I know," Regina said, "but it kind of feels like I only half came back to life…or something. I know that doesn't make much sense."
"It makes more sense than you might think," said Heather. She looked down at her watch. "We're almost out of time," she said and Regina felt surprisingly disappointed about this news. "But all Oberlin students get ten free sessions. I would really like to discuss this more, but it's up to you, of course."
Regina nodded. "This has been really helpful," she said. "Thank you. I don't know why I always hated on therapists so much."
Heather smiled wryly. "Well, you and me both," she said. "It was nice meeting you, Regina. I hope to see you again soon."