Page 19 of Getting the Grinder
“You find change hard.”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“What are some of the changes you’ve experienced in life that have been hard for you?”
I study the pen on his coffee table, considering stabbing myself in the eye with it so I don’t have to talk about this. We’ve been over it many times. It’s best to just get it out of the way, I guess.
“You already know the biggest one. Kyle.”
“The death of a sibling is incredibly difficult, especially for a child.”
I rub my chest and take a deep breath. Just thinking about Kyle is enough to bring on an anxiety attack, even on my meds.
“I just want to be normal. I mean, look at me. I’m six-three, I’m fit, and I’m a professional athlete. People look at me and think I’ve got my shit together. But I can’t fucking stay in a room when a song by Foo Fighters comes on. I get physically ill.”
“Why do you think that is?”
I take a few more deep breaths, the tightness in my chest worsening. “That was his favorite band. We listened to their albums all the time.”
“Do you have happy memories of him?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Yeah, of course. I need a subject change.”
He straightens the frame of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Tell me about your new dog. Birdie, right?”
“Yeah. She likes to be with me all the time. I think she’s afraid I’m not going to come back when I leave.”
“Is she playful?”
“Sometimes. I’m trying to teach her to fetch tennis balls, but she doesn’t like bringing them back to me.”
He smiles. “I had a dog like that once. She’d fetch the ball and just keep running.”
“I guess as long as the dog’s having fun, that’s what matters.”
“That’s a good way to look at it.”
Before he can ask me another question, I ask him one. “Am I going to be like this forever? Are the medications doing as much for me as they’ll ever be able to?”
“We can always try new medications and dosages. Tell me what you mean by like this.”
“A mess on the inside who’s trying to make it look like I’m fine to anyone who sees me.”
He writes something down on his pad of paper. “What do you think would happen if you shared what’s on the inside with someone?”
I hum a note of amusement. “They’d tell people. Think I’m nuts. Worry about me. Feel sorry for me.”
“Is there anyone you trust enough to tell? One of your parents, maybe?”
I shake my head. “No, I’d never put this on them. They think I’m doing great.”
“A friend?”
“If I had to pick someone, I’d tell Carter. But he’d see me differently, and I don’t want that.”
“You know, many people have anxiety or depression. Or both. A lot of the time, sharing it with someone you trust can strengthen the relationship.”
I look at the clock on his bookshelf, eager to stop talking about something I’ll never do. “Is it okay if I cut out a little early today? I have a team meeting later and I haven’t been home from the pet sitting thing yet. I want to take a shower.”
