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Sarah smiles kindly. “We can do this however you want, Skylar. It’s only your third visit. We can take as much time as you need.”
While that makes me feel better, there’s a nagging thought in the back of my head that wants more this time. The first meeting was just getting to know each other and laying out the things I wanted to explore during therapy. The second meeting was narrowing those down. Now is the time to talk about…it, right?
I gulp, trying to work up my nerve as I fidget with one of the toys she has set next to the couch. “I think I want to talk about it today.”
She raises her pencil and an eyebrow. “Can you be more specific?”
“The…”
My skin starts to itch. My heart pumps a little faster. My lungs don’t want to work. I?—
“Take a deep breath,” she soothes with infinite patience. “Remember, it’s not a dirty word. You’re allowed to say it.”
I nod jerkily. I can do this. This is why I wanted to come here. I want to grow as a person. I want to heal. I live a happy life, but there’s nothing wrong with discussing the things that still drag me down every now and then.
So, it’s with a deep breath that I finally let it out. “The cutting.”
“Good job, Skylar,” she praises. “So, you want to talk about the cutting?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Okay. Do you want me to ask questions, or do you want to talk about it?”
“Questions,” I rush out, figuring it’ll be easier.
“When did it start?”
“Um, middle school?” I think back to the first time. “That’s when everyone got really mean.”
She cocks her head. “Could you elaborate?”
“I’m…different, obviously,” I say through a laugh. “Cassius and I grew up in this small panhandle town, and there weren’t many kids like me.”
“Like…”
“Gay. Fabulously so. Out loud and proud. All of that.”
“Okay, and you were bullied?”
The taunts. The beatings. The way they made me feel so small.
Worthless.
Pathetic.
Freak.
It was horrible. All the kids in the town made me feel so small. They made me out to be this sideshow when all I wantedwas to make friends. I would try, again and again, to form connections, but it’d never work. I’d put myself out there, only to be hurt and demeaned, until I felt terribly about myself.
I gulp. “Badly.”
“We don’t have to talk about the specifics,” she tells me gently.
“Could we save that for another day?” I ask.
“Of course.” She puts her pencil back on her pad. “Now, is that what led to the cutting?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Our foster mom…”
