Standing Out

“Tell me again what stimulates your sudden movements, Mya.” Dr. Kershaw urged for the millionth time. I had been at his office for about two hours, and each minute was simply torture. He didn’t seem to show any interest in helping me. All he was concerned about was learning about my tic disorders for his research.

“It’s sporadic, sir.” I swallowed my frustration. “But when it happens, I can’t control it. Sometimes when I look at electronics for too long, I start doing hand movements. Stress also seems to make it worse.”

“How about your Trichotillomania? Have you tried any medications?” Dr. Kershaw pressed.

Suddenly, Mama stood up, looking very angry. “I told you before that she will not take medications! We will solve these problems the right way and she will learn how to cope on her own. She does not need medicine to reach this objective.”

Dr. Kershaw narrowed his eyes. “If you say so,” He scribbled down some more notes. “All right, Mya. You’re free to go. Thank you for your time.” Each sentence sounded strained. It was as though every word took an immense amount of effort to feign. I nodded respectfully and exited the room with my parents.

I couldn’t help but notice how my parents stiffened as another bill was handed to them. Hundreds of dollars spent and no results. I must be such a disappointment to them.

As we got into Papa’s red Ford truck and drove to my counseling appointment, I couldn’t help but be ashamed in myself. They wouldn’t be spending so much money that they don’t have if I was normal. Tears stained my cheeks and I bit my lip. Stressed, I started my muttering habit.

Soon, the vibrant pink building came into view and I sighed. This was not how I wanted to spend my time after school. Upset, I started pinching myself, another odd tendency that I had acquired. Nearing the parking area, Papa sighted a spot and as the car slowed, I pushed my door open. With a jacket hugging tightly around my body, I stepped out into the brittle winter air and winced as it nipped at my face. Eyes narrowed against the sting, I peered up to read the counseling office’s sign, Happiness on Holly Street. I almost laughed. Usually when I exited that building I felt worse than when I walked in.

Holding Papa’s hand, we entered the building and braced ourselves for Mrs. Petunia’s shallow session. To my chagrin, she was waiting in the main room for me. When her green eyes caught sight of me, she rushed over and my heart fell. Not again. She embraced me and I pushed aside the helplessness surging through my veins. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Petunia.” I forced out. “And it’s lovely to see you, dear.” She replied.

I wanted to scream, cry, kick, bawl like a baby, anything that would get me out of there, but I held my tongue.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” I strongly desired to refuse and run away, but I followed her obediently into her counseling room.

Turning on the lights, she ushered for me to sit down on her puke-yellow chair. She took a seat in another chair across from me. Now, more than ever, I really felt like a patient with some incurable illness. I fidgeted with my hands and twisted my index finger a few times, waiting for her to speak.

Clearly noticing that I had started to mess around with my hands, she hastily began. “So how have you been, sweetie?” She tried to avoid my prying eyes. “Oh, I’ve been just great. Simply delightful, if you will.” I gritted my teeth as the words narrowly escaped. Just get on with it already.

“Okay, well, your parents have brought some things to my attention and…” She trailed off, sensing her mistake and restarted. “Many remarkable people out there have things that upset them and I think that you might be one of those people. But, with my help, you can leave your troubles behind and do very well out there in the real world.”

I choked back laughter. Yeah, right.

“Now, sweetie, what is it that is troubling you?” Her face looked too earnest.

A thought crossed my mind and I swallowed it back. A lot of things, actually; the main one is being stuck here. “I guess my tics bother me sometimes.” I lied. As unusual as this sounds, I actually liked to do my tics. If anything, the only people who were ever annoyed with my disorders were the classmates sitting next to me.

“What are you using to cope with these sudden movements?”

I took in a deep breath. “I just think of the beach and it all goes away.” I smiled, trying to look genuine. Maybe if she thinks that I’m okay, the session will end sooner.

“How about your hair pulling, dear,” She began. “Is that getting any better for you?” It was evident that she noticed the ever-increasing bald spots on the back and side of my head. I silently vowed to wear a wig the next time that I was forced to come here.

“It’s improving, Mrs. Petunia.” I swallowed as I saw her inspect my missing eyebrows and eyelashes.

“Why are you lying to me?” She kept her voice even. I wanted desperately to jump out a window or something, anything to get away.

“I’m not lying. My hair is just growing back slowly.” My sincerity started to fade. I couldn’t keep this up much longer.

Mrs. Petunia’s voice lowered. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m not sure why I should tell you anything. You clearly already know, just like everyone else. All you have to do is look at me and you’ll know that I’m a freak. Your sessions are shallow and I’ve hit rock bottom anyway, so what does it matter?” I stood up and turned away.

My sudden tirade left Mrs. Petunia speechless. She stared at me blankly as though stunned that someone from the Special Needs classroom could be so insightful. “I think our session might be over.” She offered helplessly. There was still about an hour left. She stood up and guided me to the entrance in which I had come in. Her toothy smile begged me to exit. As I did so, my parents were waiting there, surprised at my sudden emergence.

“How did it go?” Mama asked tentatively.

“It came and it went.” I replied dismissively. Behind me, Mrs. Petunia attempted to hold on to her wide grin. I’ve never seen a face contort upward so painfully before. “She was just an angel.”

“Then why did you end the session so early?” Suspicion crossed Papa’s gaze.

“Well, she is just doing so well that I thought there would be no need to keep counseling her.” At this, Mama and Papa exchanged a glance. I did my best to look innocent.

Mama sighed as she wrote my counselor a check. “Thank you, Mrs. Petunia.” We exited the building solemnly. We never went there again.

In the car, Mama eyed me nervously. “What exactly happened, Mya?”

I let a heavy breath escape me. I couldn’t lie to them, it would be no use. “She asked me about how I was doing with my tics and hair pulling. Every time I visit her, it’s honestly the same thing and I felt like it was going nowhere. I lied to her about my current status and she kept pressing me for answers. I knew I couldn’t keep calm for much longer, and soon, I exploded.” Mama nodded slowly, but didn’t say a word. We drove home in silence.