by t. h. snyder
For as long as I’ve sheltered myself from talking to others about my feeling, my hurt and my pain, it will be interesting to see how this appointment goes or if I’ll have a meltdown in the office.
I can only hope for the best and maintain a positive attitude.
If nothing else I promised myself that from the moment I left the hospital I was going to live my life for me and no one else. There will be a lot of change coming my way, I’ll deal with it in baby steps, but it’s time to bring back Zar Evans.
I want to be the girl that enjoys life, again.
I want to be that person, who, when she smiles, she lights up the room.
I want to be the life of the party again and not the reason a room goes silent when I enter.
Letting out a heavy sigh I get up from my chair and place my diary in its home under my window, in its box. I go to stand, but something stops me. The pictures that I’ve pushed away for all these years.
I see a smile.
It’s my smile.
I miss it and I want to do whatever I can to bring it back.
A huge sense of hope fills my spirit as I push the box into the compartment beneath my window.
I walk across the room, grabbing my coat and messenger bag. It’s just about time to go to the new doctor’s office and I know that mom will be calling for me any moment. As much as I’d rather do this on my own, I understand that both my parents want to come along for support.
Not that I really think it’s a bad idea that they join me for my sessions, it’s just that I’ve been doing all of this on my own for so long that I really don’t know what to expect.
Walking down the stairs I hear my cell phone chime. I pull it out of my bag and see it’s from Loudon.
Of course an immediate smile appears on my face as I read his message.
Wish I could be there with you today. Call me when you get home if you feel up to talking. C-ya tomorrow xoxo L.C.
Don’t worry about me, I’ll call you later xoxo Zar
You better call me. Don’t make me call Roberta and Troy L.C.
I walk into the kitchen as I read his last text and a giggle escapes me.
“What’s so funny?” Mom asks.
I look up from my phone and I see she’s sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a mug of coffee.
“Nothing.” I say with a smile.
“Hmm, I don’t know if I believe you, Zar. There’s only one thing that’s been putting a smile on your face like that the past few weeks,” she says with a wink.
I set my phone down on the counter and reach into the fridge for a bottle of water.
She knows.
Is it that obvious?
Or maybe it’s that I’ve been so miserable that the slightest bit of happiness is noticeable.
Either way mom is right.
Just the thought of Loudon makes me happy.
The way he smiles at me with those dimples and the way his bright green eyes shine when he looks at me.
There’s so much he can say just by looking at me.
I walk with my water back to the breakfast bar and take a seat next to mom.
“You’re right,” I tell her, looking down at the counter.
I grab a banana from the bowl and begin to peel away the yellow skin.
“Right about what?” She asks.
I take a bite of my breakfast and look at her.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the smile that breaks free from my face.
“About the reason I’ve been happier the past few weeks,” I reply.
I don’t want to give away too much, at least not yet. Mom and I have a loving bond, but not one that has ever given me the courage to talk with her about my personal life.
“I can see that he cares about you Zar, just as much as your family does,” she says putting her hand on mine.
I look up at her. Her eyes look less tired, somewhat free of stress. I can’t believe I was the root cause for so much of her pain the past few days. I never once took into account what my struggles could do to her.
I’m suddenly filled with regret.
An emotion I didn’t know would bother me as much as it does right now. My parents have been nothing but good to me and I’ve hurt then by hiding in a personal shell of darkness.
I stand from the bar stool and move toward my mom.
Watching as she pays close attention to my every move, I lean into her and wrap my arms around her shoulders.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me, don’t ever think any of this was your fault,” I cry into her neck.
Her body begins to shake and I can feel that she’s crying now too.
“Shh, Zar don’t cry, sweet girl.”
“I’m sorry. I should have known to come to you from the start. Through all of this I should have been able to come to you. I was scared…I was scared you’d think less of me and be disappointed in me,” I say in between sobs.
She pulls me away from her. Wiping my tear stained cheeks with her thumb she looks up at me with a smile.
“Zar, you are my precious girl. Nothing you could say or do would make me love you any less. Don’t ever, for a minute, think that your father and I would ever be disappointed in you.”
I nod my head, not really knowing what to say next.
The door to the garage opens and we both turn in the direction of the hallway leading to the mud room.
“Hey girls,” Dad says walking into the kitchen, “Is everything okay here?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” Mom replies, “I was just telling Zar how proud we are of her and how much we are here to support her.”
Dad comes across the room and to the side of the breakfast bar where we’re sitting.
“Your mom is right Zar. We are going to get through all of this together. No matter what has happened in the past, we are a family and will stick together.”
Stepping away from mom, I move closer to my dad and pull myself into his arms.
“Thank you both so much. After everything that’s happened, I was worried you’d be upset with me. I hate the way this has all come out, but I know now, more than ever, that I have you both here for me. I’m just sorry it’s taken this long for you to know what I’ve been going through.”
Today is the one of the first days in my healing process and I couldn’t feel better about what I have to look forward to next. Having both mom and dad with me to meet with the doctor will be helpful, but I also know that I have to attack this pain on my own too.
It might be a struggle at first, but with the people standing alongside me, I know I can do this.
Dad pulls the car into the downtown medical complex. He steers his way into a parking lot to the left and we’re surrounded by tall buildings. Some of them are towers in stone and brick, whereas the others are built from the ground to the roof in glass and windows.
It’s all a bit intimidating if you ask me, but I’ve never had the need to be here before.
I’m beginning to get nervous. I really don’t know what to expect.
Maybe that’s what has me so anxious, the unknown.
The car stops and I watch as my parents exit the car. I see dad cross around the front of the car and come over to open my door. He sticks his arm in and I reach out for his hand.
“Come on, kiddo, it will be okay. You have your mother and me here for support,” he says with a warm smile on his face.
I step out of the car and stand to the side as dad shuts my door. I touch my left wrist with my right hand and feel for the delicate bracelet.
I need her strength to get through this today.
Feeling a bit numb, I wait for both of my parents to come around on either side of me. They each grab a hand and we walk together toward the large building.
My nerves are starting to get the best of me and I can feel my heart beat increasing. My breathing starts to pick up and I can feel my breakfast begin to twist in the pit of my stomach.
This is going to be a lot
harder than I thought.
I try to slow down my breathing, but the fear of not being able to take in a deep breath begins to overwhelm me. I almost don’t want to attempt it, but something deep in my mind, something I have no control over kicks in faster than I can blink. I feel my lungs begin to inhale and then the pressure hits my chest.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t do it.
I need to stop walking and catch my breath
My feet refuse to move and both my parents tug at my arms until they realize what’s happening.
I try taking in slow steady breathes to calm myself as they both watch what’s happening to me.
My hands instinctively go to my chest and hold on for dear life.
“Are you okay ,Zar?” Mom asks with a sense of panic in her voice.
I nod my head yes and try to regain my train of thought.
“Can you take in a deep breath?” Dad asks.
I shake my head no.
This is the first time an attack is happening with them both here to witness.
“Ok sweetie, can you make it over here to the bench and we’ll get you calmed down before we go in,” mom says, gesturing to the side of the building.
I follow her over to the sidewalk and take a seat on the concrete bench. As I sit down I can feel the cool rock straight through my jeans. It sends a shiver through me which thankfully gives my senses something else to focus on at the moment.
Mom begins to rub my back in an effort to calm me. It feels good to have her here with me, to experience this with me and to see what I’ve been dealing with all by myself.
This is only a small panic attack, but it still sucks.
I look up at my dad who is standing in front of me. I can see the worry in his eyes.
Finally, I start to feel calm enough to attempt another deep breath. I inhale, straightening my posture and allowing my lungs to take in a full, complete breath of air.
This feeling is like nothing else.
I can’t believe how easily I take for granted every breath I’m able to take when I’m not in the midst of an attack.
At times, I get so scared that a full breath will never come again.
I know it only sets off the panic that much more, but I can’t help it.
I try one more time to make sure that I’m okay.
Inhaling through my nose I allow my lungs to completely fill with air and then exhale. My shoulders begin to slouch as the breath leaves through my mouth.
I look over to my mom.
The look on her face is of concern.
It bothers me that she has to worry about me like this, but I also know that both my parents are here to help me get through the difficult times.
I reach for her hand and smile.
“It’s okay,” I say.
My mom moves to stand and walks over next to my dad.
“Are you sure you’re okay, kiddo?” He asks, reaching out for my other hand.
“Yeah, it was just a little attack. I’ll be fine. I just got a little nervous about this whole thing. It’s not every day I have to go to a doctor and talk about my fears.”
“Zar, I hate that we have to do this too, but if it’s going to help you then we are behind you one hundred percent.”
“I know dad, thank you. I appreciate you guys being here more than you know.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him.
A sense of comfort surrounds me as we walk together, side by side, toward the large glass doors and into the building.
Dad leads us through the lobby and toward the elevator. Once inside I lean up against the back wall and take slow, shallow breaths.
This is going to be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. I don’t know what I’d do if I was going through this alone.
Even though I’ve struggled with my pain all by myself for five years, I know now that I don’t have to do it alone any longer. I’m so glad to have my mom and dad here with me today. As much as I dread what is about to happen, I know it’s for the best. With their support I can do it today, tomorrow and any other day.
I hold my head up high as we exit the elevator and walk toward the doctor’s office.
Dad reaches for the door and pulls it open for both me and mom to go inside.
As soon as I walk in my mouth drops. I don’t know what I was expecting but this surely wasn’t it.
The colors on the walls are vibrant, bright and just make you want to feel happy and hopeful.
I laugh to myself as I find a seat along the wall. Of course the walls would be this color, why would I think that they would be dark and dungy. That would totally defeat the purpose.
I grab the New York Daily News from the side table next to my chair. Opening it up to the first few pages I see a heading in the health section that catches my eye, 1 in 12 teens have attempted suicide: a CDC report finds suicide among high school students on the rise.
My breath falls short and I gasp with my hand flying up to cover my mouth as it drops open.
I can’t believe the article that lies in front of me.
This pain I’ve felt is so real.
It’s caused other teens to hurt and for some to take it as far as killing themselves.
I shake my head in disbelief.
Looking up I see that mom and dad are still at the front desk filling out the paperwork.
I don’t know how they would feel to see an article like this. The fear that would course through a parent’s mind, knowing that their child has feelings so strong, that they are willing to take their own life.
Thank god, I never felt the need to hurt myself because of my pain, but others have. There has to be a way to stop this horrific pain from hurting more innocent people.
I need to know more about this and how bad it really is for others. I’ve been so blinded by my own hurt that I never realized how many others could be going through the same thing. I know I can’t stage a revolution against bullying, but the more I know the more I may be able to help someone else get through their struggles.
Gazing through the article, the information I’m reading is astounding.
Oh my god, one in every six students has considered suicide and even worse: one in every twelve has attempted to kill themselves.
My mouth goes dry.
The feeling of regret hits me hard and I feel discomfort in my chest.
Not a pain that would come on before an attack, but more like sadness for all these teens.
According to this article about twenty percent of high-school students stated that they have been bullied while at school.
I’m a part of that twenty percent.
I read further and find myself in absolute shock with this next statistic. Sixteen percent of those same questioned students have been bullied through email and social media.
Shit and I thought what I’ve dealt with was bad, it doesn’t seem like much of anything compared to what some kids my age are going through.
“Zar Evans.”
I hear my name being called by a deep voice and I look up.
Standing before me in the small waiting area is a tall, middle aged man with dark brown hair and eyes that almost look silver. He walks over to me and extends his hand.
“I’ll assume you’re Zar since you are the only one in here,” he says with a smile.
I stand to greet him and reach my hand to shake his.
I jerk from his touch. His hands are ice cold, yet when he grips my hand I feel comforted.
This is the weirdest sensation.
I clear my thoughts and smile.
“Yes, I’m Zar Evans,” I say, releasing my hand from his.
Turning to my parents they both begin to stand.
“It nice to meet all of you, I’m Dr. Reynolds,” he says, while shaking my parent’s hands.
“This is my mom, Roberta and my dad, Troy. I hope that it’s okay, but I’d like for them to be a part of my first session.”
The
nerves that had finally calmed are now starting to stir back up again.
My mom grabs for my hand and my dad places his hand on my back.
Thank god for their support right now.
“Yes of course that’s fine with me, why don’t the three of you follow me into my office and we can get started.”
I nod my head and follow my dad through the waiting room and into the doctor’s office.
Taking in a deep breath I feel my mom’s hand leave mine and come up along my back. She reaches her arm around my waist and pulls me in close to her.
“We are going to get through this together Zar, don’t give up on yourself now. Just continue to take in breaths and take it slow. No one is rushing you through this. Remember, we love you.”
“Thank you mom for being here with me today and every day, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.”
“I know honey. Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see, I promise,” she says, giving me a kiss on the forehead and allowing me to walk forward behind dad.
Her words mean so much to me, more than they ever have.
I know what I need to do and I’m more ready than I ever thought I’d be.
Change, that’s all this really is about and I’m no longer scared about what that may mean.
I want to change my outlook on life.
I need to stand up for myself.
I have to bring the old Zar back.
Today is the day it will all start to happen for me and for all of the others that are hurting with this pain.
Standing in Dr. Reynolds’s office I glance around the room. The walls aren’t quite as bright as they were in the waiting area; instead they are a warm beige color with dark wood molding. There’s a large shelving unit filled with books surrounded by a couch and love seat, on the right, a table with chairs and to the left, a desk with various picture frames that I can only assume is his.
I’m not quite sure how all this works or where I’m even supposed to sit. I glance around the room again and then look to my parents. I shrug my shoulders and they both smile at me. Ugh, a lot of help they are right now.
“Why don’t you take a seat wherever you’re comfortable Zar and I’ll be right there,” the doctor says, walking over to a bookcase behind his desk.
