5 years Earlier
Nao
"Mom, I'm not depressed," I sighed from the passengers seat.
"Nao, you barely speak you don't eat, you need this help. I hate making you do something you don't want to do, but I'm so worried about you. What you saw that night Nao, you should have never been exposed to. You don't have to act like everything's fine. I wish you'd talk to me. I know how over whelming it can be to keep everything in."
I closed my eyes and laid my head on the window blinking away the tears. She was right and as much as I wanted to talk to her I wanted to forget that night even more. How would talking about it help that? If anything it just brings all those painful memories back to the surface.
I sat quietly for the rest of the ride. There was no use in arguing I couldn't change her mind.
"Nao douroux? A middle aged black women said looking up from her clipboard.
My mom rose her hand signaling I was over here.
"She's ready for you," the lady said with a smile.
I slowly followed the lady to the room.
"Here we are,"she said as she opened the door for me .
Once I was inside she closed it and was gone.
"You can take a seat anywhere you'd like," the therapists said to me. "Wherever is comfortable."
I looked around for a minute. The walls were gray. There was little to no furniture. All neutral colors. No family photos on the desk to "promote positive distraction." No sunlight coming in through the windows.
"Nao, the therapists said snapping me back to the present.
I took a seat in the chair closest to me.
"I'm Dr.Brown," she said to me with what looked like a sincere smile. She was young black and beautiful. She looked like she was fresh out of school. "What brings you here? She asked adjusting her clipboard.
"My mom," I replied dryly.
"So you don't think you should be here? She questioned.
"Not really, I said." That was lie.
"Well, why do you think your mom set up this appointment?" She asked writing in her clipboard.
"What are you writing, I asked trying to distract her from the conversation we should be having.
"Just take aways," Dr. Brown said reassuringly. " to help me solidify memories of important details," she says. " Even the little things help me help you."
"So why do you think you're here?" She asked again.
"For you to fix me," I mumbled.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," she said leaning closer.
"I don't know," I replied. "I feel fine," I replied changing my answer.
"Says here, you suffer from depression, and PTSD, you've been having nightmare the past few months, barely eat or speak.. Would you say this is true," she asked me.
"I didn't say anything," I had to choose my words very precisely.
"I guess you could say that," I replied.
"Can you tell me about these nightmares? What do you think has brought them on, your dad?
My eyes darted to hers but I quickly relaxed not wanted her to know she was on to something.
"How do you know about my father ?" Then I remembered. Small Town. Everyone knows about my dad or at least the story on the surface. Which is that something happened that night, and he ended up dead.
"Small town,"I mumbled . No one knows the real story just the ones they've made up in there heads, and it was my fault. Never answering people's questions or addressing the false rumors. I've felt stuck sense that night I couldn't talk about it even if I tried.
"My dad being gone wasn't the only reason for my depression, just the thought that everything can change in a matter of seconds has," I said outloud.
I watched her take more notes before looking at her watch.
"Looks like we're out of time, but we'll pick up where we left off next week." She gave me a small smile walking me to the door. If you can't talk about it maybe write about it, she said loud enough for just the two of us to hear.
She was right. I left the office and found my Mom waiting for me outside.
"How was it?" She asked.
It was good, I replied back in an attempt to make her feel better like there was hope for me. For us, that maybe things could get back to normal one day.
