Page 41 of If My Wishes Came True
Please let it be brief. Please don’t let this be like last time.
“Hey, you okay?” Vanessa asks, her forehead creased.
Now I see that she put my smoothie on the island in front of me. I must have spaced out for a minute.
I swallow a sob, which strains my throat. I fight my tears, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this act.
I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I am not okay.
I haven’t been for a long time. Not since November 9, 2002, when Hunter called and told me?—
“Jenna?”
I look into Vanessa’s concerned eyes. She’s sitting next to me now, at the island. I take my gaze down to my lap, where I see my hand in hers. A tear falls onto our intertwined fingers.
My shoulders slump from the tension I’m holding in my body. I’m so damn tired of fighting, I want to crumple into a heap on the floor.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say out loud, although I’m not sure I meant to.
“Do what?” Vanessa asks, tenderly squeezing my hand.
I look up at her again. “I can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”
Eventually, I tell her my story.
It’s all out of order, though. I start with what Grady did to me—but for that to make sense, I have to tell her about my relationship with Dex. And for her to understand why Grady taking a picture of me sleeping was especially triggering, I have to go back and tell her that my ex, Alex, did the same thing to me in grad school. Except that I was naked in that picture, with only a bedsheet covering me from the waist down.
She already knows what happened with Scott, so I don’t have to revisit that mess. But as I watch her process my past, I can tell she knows there are pieces missing from the puzzle.
Finally, after two cups of tea and a lot of prodding, I tell Vanessa about Hunter.
I cry, and cry, and cry. And while I’m crying, she holds me.
Could this be the reason she came into my life? A therapist with a heart of gold who cares about me? Who listens without judgment and wipes away my tears?
All I know is, I feel a huge weight lift after being honest with Vanessa. But when I tell her that, she makes it clear that this is only the beginning of my path to healing.
“I’m going to print out a depression assessment, so I can help you figure out where to go from here.”
After I answer each question, I give her the assessment to score. When she’s satisfied that I’m not a danger to myself, her shoulders relax, and relief washes over her face.
But she insists I see a therapist.
“You need a professional to help you process what happened with Hunter,” she says, gently.
It’s the same advice my sister gave me years ago. I wish I had listened. This is only the first time since then that I’ve been so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed—but what if it’s not the last?
And even though I’ve been functional in between these episodes, that doesn’t mean I’ve been happy.
Let’s face it: what Christy said to me on the phone the other week is true. I’m miserable living without love in my life. Idowant a relationship.
I want a relationship with Charlie.
