I nod. I haven’t thought about school at all. Do I want to go back and get a degree? “I love my job,” I blurt out. “Like really love it. More than football, so I don’t know about school. I never intended on using that degree because I was going to play. That’s not what I wanted to do.”
“All your hopes and dreams were with football.”
Leaning forward, I place my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands together, resting my chin on top of them. “Yes. Both of my brothers play too. My dad signed us all up and he knew I had the talent to make it someday. Football was all I had.”
“And you lost it.”
Does she have to keep stating the obvious? How is it helpful? “Yeah.”
“Football was how you coped.”
“Yes.”
“You need a new way to cope. That’s what we’re going to focus on today. Some things, you can’t control, Corey. You don’t need to as long as you can fight and never give up. When the depression hits you again, you have to try your hardest to find something, one thing, to focus on to pull you through it. One thing you can cling to and won’t let go. Find one positive thing from each day and cherish it. There will always be at least one thing, so find it. I know it’ll be hard, but that’s what you need to do.
“There’s not really a prevention method either. Your medications will help and can be adjusted, but you need to always be prepared. Stay active if it makes you feel better. Be social at least once a week. Don’t isolate yourself. If it’s going to come and make a bed in your home, then don’t feed it. If you give in, that’s okay. Don’t make it a habit, though. You’re going to have to find a reserve of strength and do what you don’t want to do. In the end, it’ll help.”
I nod because I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. This session is lasting forever.
“Is there something you want to talk about, Corey?”
Instinct takes over as I shrug. Ms. Cynthia raises a white brow. She stares me down until I run a hand over my face. Damn it.
“Olivia’s nightmares are bothering me.” She doesn’t ask why. She waits for me to explain. “She cries and she…talks.” Should I be telling her this? Am I breaking some invisible trust bond with Olivia by talking about her?
“What does she say?” Ms. Cynthia urges.
“It’s always the same thing. She says,” I pause and clear my throat to clear away my uneasiness. “She says, ‘Aaron, don’t. Please, don’t do this.’ And then she’ll add, ‘Corey. Not you too. Please.’ She tells me that she doesn’t remember them, but I think she’s lying. She got pissed because I didn’t tell her I made the first appointment with you. Told me she was upset because if I’m supposed to be able to talk to her, why didn’t I tell her? She’s not talking to me either, and I don’t know if I should make her. I want her to come to me willingly.
“If she’s the person I can talk to, even when I don’t want to, then I want to be that person for her too. Sometimes, she has to push me, but that’s what works for me. It’s what I need. I don’t know what the hell Olivia needs. I feel like I should know, but I don’t. Not one clue. And that bothers me.
“I should wait until she’s ready, I guess. She told me once she was a bystander to someone she knew who has depression. I asked her about it and she asked me not to push, to wait and she’ll eventually tell me. I think Aaron was that person for her, but I don’t have any clue who he is.” My stomach flips and flops. “I don’t think it’s family. It bothers the hell out of me that I don’t know and she won’t tell me. She’s been with me for a week straight and hasn’t said a word.”
Ms. Cynthia has been watching me the entire time without any facial expressions. “If she said she’ll tell you, then maybe you should trust her. If not, ask her. You can bring her in for a session as well, you know.”
I shake my head. “Why do you want me to bring people here? Can’t you just tell me what I need to do instead of involving them in this?”
“Sometimes it helps to have a moderator of sorts.” She talks to me a little more about Olivia before moving back to my siblings. Time seems to fly and then she’s practically pushing me out the door because our session is over. Next week, I’ll see her sooner since I’m leaving Friday to go to see my siblings.
Olivia is in my apartment, where she’s temporarily moved herself in, with dinner on the coffee table in the living room when I walk in. The spare key is on the end table next to the football from where she let herself inside. She gives a brief smile as she pats the spot next to her.
“Did you have a good session?”
“Yeah.” I kiss her softly, but quickly. “Did you have a good day?”
She shrugs. She’s had a few bad days this week. We pick up our plates and begin eating. She hasn’t been herself and I miss her and her usual pushy ways.
“Want to do yoga later? It’ll make you feel better.” I s
mile because she’s told me that before. It would be great to do that for her too, especially since we haven’t done it lately.
“Yeah, we can. Sorry I’ve been a Debbie Downer this week, Corey.” Olivia bumps her shoulder against mine.
“You don’t have to be sorry for that. Have you met me?”
She laughs for the first time in seven days. It’s such a sweet, beautiful sound. “Good point.” She picks at her food for a moment before setting it down on the table and glancing at me. “Ben said everyone was going out tonight. I kind of want to go, but I don’t want to without you.”
“You better get ready then, and no hoodie either,” I reply without any hesitation. Maybe this is what she needs to help her out of her funk. Her wide smile is exactly why I did it. She grabs my face and kisses me in appreciation.