Page 47 of Bleeding Hearts

Bethany

“Think for a second. What happened right before you felt the panic set in?” I ask the young woman sitting across from me in my office.

Three weeks ago, Maddie sought my help after experiencing a major meltdown in the crowded cafeteria. Traumatized by a shooting at her sorority house at a larger university, she transferred to GSU. She now lives at home and commutes two hours one way to attend classes. Our focus is on supporting her healing journey, providing comfort and guidance as she processes this painful experience and steps toward a brighter future. To teach her how to cope with the aftermath. Getting comfortable with the idea of moving to an apartment near campus, independent from her parents. But first, we need to make sure she has the knowledge and skills to manage and identify her triggers.

“It’s stupid.” With a slight tilt of her body, she leans over and retrieves another tissue from the box.

“You have to stop saying that. Nothing is stupid if it makes you feel uneasy.” I lift my skirt, revealing a constellation of pale, raised scars on my legs. “Over the summer, I was in a horribleaccident. You know what sent me into a panic the first time I got back behind the wheel?”

A single tear rolls down her cheek as she shakes her head. Her shoulders hunch over in defeat.

“A goddamn song. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was playing when the accident occurred. I can’t remember. And I’ve listened to this damn song several times after and never experienced a thing. I was driving, and it started playing and suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had to pull over. It was one of my favorites.” The mere mention of the experience brings a heaviness to my chest, as if a dark cloud looms above me. Despite the weight of the memory, I stay composed and set it aside, allowing myself a moment of respite.

“Was?” Maddie’s hiccup betrays her attempt to keep her emotions in check. “So, you don’t listen to it anymore?”

“I still listen to it, Maddie, just not while I’m driving. At least not for now, maybe one day.” In order for her to trust me to help her, I can’t hide the issues I struggle with. “It’s a process, and eventually I’ll desensitize my reaction to the song. It’s a mind over matter approach, and it works differently for everyone. Not all traumas can be treated the same way. And that’s okay. That’s why we’re here, putting in the work. The more we talk, and you open up with me, the easier it’ll be for us to figure out which one works best for you.”

“Someone bumped my chair.” The tone of Maddie’s voice reflects her anger. “My fucking chair. Do you know how many times a day that happens?”

“No, but I bet you do.”

“A lot.” Her shoulders droop even more as defeat washes over her, and she recounts the event when her world fell apart. “Everyone in the sorority ran out of fear. Terrified, they rushed toward the two exits, creating a stampede. I was trapped in a corner of the rec room with my… with my boyfriend. He’d beenshot. He tried to be brave, protect me the best he could with the chaos happening around us. But he was badly hurt and there were too many people.”

I’ve heard this part before, and it kills me every time.

“He died in my arms.” She reaches up and swipes angrily at her tears. “Even in that moment, his only thought was about me. He offered himself as a shield, knowing it would be the last act of love he could give me. He ordered me to get in the goddamn corner and hide like a fucking coward. And you know what I did?”

This is the part that hurts her the most. But she did what she had to do to survive. Survivors’ guilt is a haunting and complex emotion that can drive one to contemplate suicide to escape. She may never get over the guilt, but she’ll learn to live with it. Suicide is an issue Maddie has been grappling with, and another reason she knew she needed help.

“Do you remember what I told you to do when your mind takes you down this road?”

She nods, barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. “List five reasons my survival was important to him.”

It’s vital she comprehends the value of her life and lets go of any guilt she feels for being alive and thriving. Showcasing the far-reaching effects her survival has had on the world and highlighting the difference her presence has made is my responsibility.

“Fine.” On a grunt, she raises her hand to tick them off. “This is hard.”

“I know. And as time passes, your five things will change because you haven’t lived life to its fullest yet.”

“I identified the shooter.” Glistening with unshed tears, her eyes grow glassy, mirroring the profound heartache that weighs heavily on her soul. “He thought I was dead, so he removed his mask before standing in the room to admire his work. Therewas a haunting darkness in his eyes that reflected his soul. He was someone I knew. Someone who claimed to be a friend to my boyfriend. He always gave me weird vibes. I can’t explain it. And when he looked around the room and smiled, I was so scared he’d look at me, realize I wasn’t dead and kill me. I still have nightmares.”

This poor girl has been through hell, and I hold the deepest respect for her bravery.

“And because you could identify him, the police stopped him from doing it again. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison. And that’s because of you.”

Despite the ongoing nature of the case, the evidence made public is nothing short of mind-boggling. The young man, who caused the deaths of ten college students and an elderly man who courageously stepped in, will now have to confront the full magnitude of his actions.

“Go on.”

After a few beats, there’s a shift in her demeanor as she reveals, “I talked to my sister yesterday. We’re going to take that trip.”

“The mission trip?”

“Yes.” Maddie’s bright smile shows we’re making headway. “I’m excited. Not so much about the whole churchy thing. I’m still not sure how I feel about God after living through this, but I’m excited to help build a school. And my sister is doing better now. Rehab is going well. I’m not so sure she’d have kicked her habit had things turned out differently.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Sometimes it’s the wake-up calls that help us see the light.” I do my best to keep us on track. “One more.”

“I donated blood for the first time last week.” She takes a deep breath and shakes out her hands. “I know that seems silly, but the idea always made me nauseous. Billy was a donor. Hewas O negative, so he understood how important it was for someone with his blood type. While mine is more common, it felt good to know I carried that on for him, helping someone else who might need it.”

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