“Sure. I have my siblings and a girl across the hall from me, I guess.”
“Tell me about your siblings. What do they know of your struggles?”
What the fuck does this have to do with anything?! “Two younger brothers and a younger sister. They don’t know much. No one does, and I’d like to keep it that way. The girl, Olivia, she knows, but that’s because she’s got some weird see-your-soul shit going on. Can you help me or not?”
“Irritability is obviously a symptom,” he comments under his breath, almost smiling while he types into his little laptop.
Son of a bitch, he’s about to piss me off. “I only came here because I’m sick of this. There’s not a lot I can do or fix or change, but I can do something about this.” My voice conveys my desperation and then my uncertainty. “Right? I can be helped, can’t I?” It’s not until the words faintly leave my mouth that I realize I was hopeful thanks to Olivia and scared shitless that she may be wrong.
Dr. Stewart studies me in the same analyzing way that Olivia does. “Yes, you can,” he finally answers. “But in no way is it going to be easy or happen overni
ght. Depression is different for everyone. Some people go years without hitting their lows, and for others, they battle it every few months, or daily. You need to find someone who understands and you need to talk to them because you’re going to need them. You’re going to have to find strength when you don’t feel like it, and you’re going to have to fight like hell for the good days, but you can do it.
“Sounds like you’ve been doing a decent job so far to be dealing with it as long as you have. I definitely want you to start seeing a therapist.” I part my mouth to object, but he interrupts me. “You have issues, Corey. Big ones, and don’t try to deny them. You’re the one who can’t even tell your doctor that a football injury triggered your setback.”
My eyes widen.
“I attended Salem University once upon a time, even played football myself, and I like to watch it now that I don’t. I recognized you the moment you walked in and I read the name on the file. Corey, it’s not uncommon for athletes to feel the exact same way you do right now after having their dream taken from them without any warning. Because you already had depression issues before certainly didn’t help when it happened either.
“My point is you aren’t alone in this, but you have to talk to someone. Anyone. If you want to talk to a stranger, drive around the city and find a waitress to spill your sorrows to. Whatever you need to do to open up and get this stuff out is what I want you to do.” He pauses, keeps his gaze locked on mine, and adds, “If you want to get back in control of your life, that’s part of what you have to do. You have to have a support system. You have to learn how to talk about these things.”
Nothing comes to mind for me to say, so I nod.
“Are you still in school?”
“Not at the moment. I went to grad school because there wasn’t any other option, and I got dropped this semester for missing too many days.”
He nods. “Okay, we’ll work on that later. Next thing, not all medications are for everyone. This will be a trial and error process until we find one that works best for you. Read the possible side effects and if you have any, stop taking them and make an appointment to come see me. Medications do not fix your problems. Understand that. The purpose of medications is to help you fix your problems. Popping pills won’t do anything if you aren’t trying to help yourself too.”
“Okay.” I can do that.
Dr. Stewart discusses a couple different options before prescribing me something. He gives me a referral to a therapist, but I toss it in the backseat of my car once I get in. I’m not so sure about all that. While I’m waiting for my prescription to get filled, I get something to eat from a fast-food restaurant.
I shouldn’t have, though.
“Excuse me?” I turn to see a guy around my age, wearing the same football hoodie as Ben. Shit. Not another one. “You used to play for Salem University, right? You’re Corey Kennedy. Sucks to hear about your injury. I wondered what happened to you. Did you transfer here?”
Sucks to hear? How about sucks to have it happen to me? How about it sucks for you to bring it up? I nod my head, hoping that’ll end the conversation.
“We had a player who had to quit too. He had a really bad concussion. Still dealing with it.”
Ugh, please stop talking. I didn’t quit. They wouldn’t clear me to play again and I was forced to stop. There’s a difference; I would have played through it if I could. I wouldn’t have cared about the long-term damage. Hell, it’s long-term damage right now! The results are still the same.
Thankfully, it’s my turn to order. When I go to leave, the guy stops me.
“Hey, good luck with what you chose to do now. I can’t imagine not being able to play, or what I would do if I couldn’t, so good luck with everything else.”
“Thanks. Better make sure you have a backup plan just in case. Things are worse when you don’t have one.”
The guy nods, and that’s the end of our conversation. Look at me, giving advice to the dude who can still play. Like he needs it. I check my phone while I eat. Olivia has texted me way too many times, so I should probably answer her.
Olivia: Well, how did it go?
Olivia: Corey…aren’t you done by now?
Olivia: Better not be ignoring me. Just tell me if it was good or bad. That’s all I really want to know.
Me: Went okay.