Page 12 of The Girlfriend Game
Five
Zeke
The coffee shop hums with the buzz of the baristas frantically making customer’s orders and the patrons waiting anxiously for their drug of choice, all with the need to refuel.
I’ve been coming here for years since I was traded to the Pilots because it’s midway between my gym and my condo. It also happens to be down the street from Dr. Rush’s office, where I’m scheduled to see her again in thirty minutes.
This will be my third session with Kendall since the first appointment when I walked out on her. I did apologize for my behavior, sharing that I was disappointed in myself for acting that way.
She accepted the apology and offered immediate forgiveness. From there, my appointment veered in a direction I never would have expected it to go.
Kendall took me down to the Hope Street men’s shelter and put me to work volunteering as the janitor, cleaning the bathrooms and showers. Afterwards, she asked me to join her in circle time. We met with a group of seven haggard looking men, ranging in age from 18 to 70, where they shared stories of their hopelessness, life events, and struggles with their mental illness.
The entire afternoon caught me off-guard. As we walked back to her office, I asked her why she had me tag along with her.
Kendall tilted her head to the side and gave me an assessing look. “I thought you could use some perspective.”
She didn’t say anything more after that and then it was time for her next patient. I went home that night trying to figure out what she meant by that statement. I mean, there’s the obvious connection between how mental health issues, when not treated or left unattended with a healthcare system that lacks in options for most American’s, can leave many people hopeless and lost. Unable to cope with everyday life, jobs, family, or homes, leaving them homeless.
It’s the sad state of our world.
The next appointment I had with Kendall was back in her office the following week. We didn’t go anywhere that time, but we talked about the time spent at the shelter. She asked me questions about how I felt being there, seeing those men, and learning of their struggles.
“The reason I brought you to Hope Street was to show you that everyone deals with psychological, mental, and emotional pain. Mental health is not biased when it comes to race, culture, wealth, or status. It affects everyone. But when it’s not dealt with it properly and effectively, it can lead to deeper psychological impacts. I’m so glad you’ve made the decision to return so we can continue to work together.”
And then she asked me a question no one’s ever asked me before.
“Zeke, have you ever been to the point where you thought about ending your life?”
The question stopped me in my tracks. My immediate response was, “No. Of course not.”
But as we spoke further, I realized there had been times in the past when I was so depressed and life was so bleak, I did consider it. Especially a few years ago after I’d torn my ACL and undergone total knee replacement. I couldn’t play basketball and the world felt as if it was collapsing down on me.
My entire identity and self-worth were called into question. If I could never play basketball again, who was I? Did my life even matter? It filled me with a sense of despair and hopelessness.
But it was a blip in time. I recovered and my knee mended, and I returned to the game. Still, the lasting effects on my mental health never really healed. I just shoved it in the closet, along with my crutches, and let it fester and grow until it manifested itself in a panic attack for the world to see.
Ignorance is bliss until the cork pops under all the pressure.
The barista calls out my name and I grab my drink from the counter.
“How’s it going, Zeke?” she asks with a pleasant smile. Alana has worked here for years and knows who I am, but has never treated me any differently than any of her other patrons. Which I appreciate, so I tip her well.
I hoist the cup in the air and tip my chin. “Much better now thanks to you. Have a good one, Alana.”
She smiles brightly as if my comment made her day, and she waggles her fingers in the air. “Have a great day, Zeke. See you tomorrow.”
As I weave through the patrons, I consider my afternoon plans after my appointment. I’d like to take a ride up to the Mount Pilchuck area of the Cascades and go for a hike in one of my favorite hiking spots. Although I should give my agent a call and talk about this endorsement deal she’s trying to get me booked to do. She wants me to meet with the CEO and marketing director for a local tech start-up. I’ve been ignoring her request the past two days and been dragging my feet, even though it would be a good idea to get it scheduled.
That’s one of the symptoms I’ve learned that comes with depression. Putting things off and ignoring important matters is sometimes par for the course. There are days when I’d prefer to cover my head with a pillow, avoiding everything and everyone in favor of staying in bed.
It’s one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed this dating app. It’s given me something to look forward to every day, outside of my basketball routine. It offers a sense of excitement when I see the response come in from the woman I’ve matched with—The Other Sister.
From the moment we matched, it drew me in and I want to learn everything there is to know about her.
Of course, I also wonder what she looks like. My fantasies have been running wild in relation to whether her physical beauty and allure rivals her humor and intelligence.
Despite my natural skepticism that this app is still a great way to get catfished, once I started chatting with her, I realized it doesn’t matter what she looks like. It’s the anonymity of the conversation that’s freed me to be more open about who I am with her.
