Page 18 of Getting the Grinder
“No problem.”
I walk into the kitchen and grab my bag. Suki follows me and gives me a quick hug.
“My boss won’t let me work late anymore, so I’m reading files at home,” I tell her. “I’m buried, so I don’t know if I’ll see you until the next trivia night.”
“Okay. Is this just a busy time at work? Is it going to get better?”
“It probably won’t get better, but it’s okay. I’m good.”
She gives me a pointed look. “You always say that, even when you’re not. And then the stress just builds and builds until you explode.”
“That’s how I’m made.” I wave at her on my way out the door. “Tell Olivia and Charlotte I said hi.”
“I will. Call me later if you want to talk about Leo some more.”
I call out to her over my shoulder. “I don’t!”
Chapter Seven
Leo
* * *
“How are you feeling?”
I sigh heavily, trying to figure out how to answer. It’s not something I can put into one or two words or even a single sentence. But that’s why I’m here. I spend my entire hour-long sessions with my psychiatrist, Dr. Laudner, talking about how I feel, and I still never fully understand it myself.
“About the same as last week,” I say. “I spent the past few days taking care of my buddy’s pets while he went on vacation with his family. And I still have the dog I told you about last time. I don’t think I’m going to be able to rehome her.”
Dr. Laudner pushes his glasses up on his nose, looking pleased. “You’ve said you have trouble forming close attachments, but a pet can be just as important as a person in your life.”
“Yeah. Birdie’s great, but I didn’t love being trapped in the house for four days. There was no escaping my own head. I couldn’t get in good workouts. A friend of my friends came by to help, and even though I don’t like her, it was just good to see another face.”
“Are you feeling any differences with your new medication dosage?”
I shift on the loveseat I’m sitting on, shaking my head. “I feel the same.”
“Still having intrusive thoughts?”
I look away. I fucking hate this. I don’t like talking about my feelings, but these sessions are required for me to get refills on my medications, and I can’t function without them.
For years, I refused to get professional help. I’d still be refusing, but I had a panic attack before a game last year, and our team doctor, Caroline, treated me for it. I thought it was a heart attack. I had to miss the game to go get tests at a hospital, and when everything else was ruled out, the doctors said it was a panic attack, and that those don’t happen for no reason.
Yeah, no shit. I knew I was struggling, but I thought I was managing. Well, other than not sleeping well and having panic attacks.
Now that I’m on meds for my depression and anxiety, it’s more manageable. I’m not fighting myself as hard as I used to. I don’t worry constantly about getting cut from the team. But I still have issues, and now I have the additional worry that people will find out I’m wearing a mask and taking medications to keep me from falling over the edge.
“I’ve been thinking I’m not good enough my entire life,” I say. “There’s no medication that’s going to change that.”
The doctor nods. “What do you think you’re not good enough for?”
I cross my arms in front of me, agitated. “You already know. My place on the team, my friends ...” I run a hand through my hair. “My whole life, I guess. It feels like I’m a fucking fraud and everyone around me is going to realize it. If I get cut from the team, I’ll lose my friends. My parents will be ashamed of me. Even if they don’t admit it.”
Dr. Laudner is in his mid-fifties. He embraces his baldness, shaving his head almost to the skin. He does triathlons and makes homemade pasta. I like him. But I still don’t like these conversations.
“Do you think your friends only value you because of your career success?”
I shake my head. “I know, I really do. I know they wouldn’t tell me to fuck off if I got traded. But I’d live somewhere else. I’d be on a different team. It wouldn’t be the same.”
