Chapter One : The Therapist

The first day of therapy as the therapists describes the troubled teens before him.

Week one- I scan my office slowly, trying to determine what I’m up against. The three children sitting in front of me are all totally different characters however; seem to be connected in some horrible, twisted way.

The young boy on the right looks to be around 18, probably a senior in high school. He wears all black in a gothic fashion but, it all seems to be wore down and dirty. Classic black shirt, black skinny jeans, and black converse, all not as pristine as they probably once were. He has long, messy black hair that flips over his eyes. I guess it’s meant to make him look more mysterious. He’s pale and scrawny, which fully exposes the scars on his arms and face. They don’t look too terribly deep but, they did enough damage to stick around for a couple years. He doesn’t seem to say much but, then again, most of my patients never do. He seems especially interested in the one window in my office. It’s a view of the parking lot so, it’s not much. He never took his eyes off of that window. He bounced his left and right leg alternatively, signaling he must have a short fight or flight response.

The dark skinned boy next to him is anything but confident. The first boy at least sat slouched and in an open matter, this boy seems to try to hide himself. If he could grow wings and fly away from this place, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He looks to be a junior and has short brown hair. He hangs his head low, as if his neck can’t support his head. Looking at his body shape, I’d presume he was an athlete but, after taking close inspection to his right jean leg, I can see a faint outline of something that’s not there. He has a shoe but, it’s obviously fitted around something, and as the air conditioning unit kicks on, I can see his jeans flow farther than they should. He fidgets every now and then, clueing in that he’s uncomfortable. He stares at the floor like there’s something important there, although the green shag carpet is the only thing visible.

The girl in the middle is by far the most puzzling of the three. She’s fair skinned with straight, blonde hair that must’ve been brushed 50 times before she left the house. She looks to be around 16, but unlike the boys, her clothes are very neat, clean, and very thought through. Also unlike her counterparts, she actually looks at me from time to time. When her piercing blue stare meets mine, I start to speak when she quickly looks away, as if the encounter never happened. Other than that small detail, she doesn’t seem to be troubled or sad at all. After observing her a little longer, I do start to notice a slight tick. She constantly plays with the ring on her little finger. The finger divots in a small amount in the middle, meaning she does that frequently, perhaps every time she gets nervous.

I stand to start my speech that I’ve given every year when I start the program. It may be short but, to some patients it has been important.

“The first thing you need to know is you’re not alone. Whatever you’re all going through as individuals, others have gone through the same. I’m here to hear you out and try to help you. You are all three here together, to give a sort of connected feeling to the group. You all have completely different stories but, you all know how it feels to be hurt emotionally. Just know that everything �" “

This is the portion of the speech where I usually say “everything is going to be okay”; however, looking around the room at the top or sides of the patients’ heads; none of them daring to make eye contact, I decided to change things up. I sat down on my desk noisily and continued.

“Scratch that. I’m not going to sit here and tell you everything’s going to be okay because I know it’s the last thing any of you want to hear, but I am here for you and you should learn to be there for each other. Everyone’s broken, but being broken together can paint a whole new picture.”

Something I had said must’ve gotten their attention because at that moment, they all slowly looked up; locking eyes with me. I smirked, knowing this was going to be a good group. Of course, there’s never going to be a great group in therapy, I’d much rather none of them need this but, this group has something previous groups have not. All three of these children have very real problems. Each one of these children, are very real.