Page 2 of Choosing Hope
The sound of her pen scratching notes onto her pad fills the surrounding air, and it amuses me to add to her list of concerns about my mental health.
“I’d always been a lonely child but hearing him sniveling in the bed beside me tugged at my empathy. I hugged him tight, and my gestureseemed to plant the first seeds of a friendship that’s matured into one of the most important relationships in my life.”
“Did his arrival help you feel safe?”
I scoff at the idea of having felt secure during my childhood of neglect.
“I’m not sure about safe, but we could certainly understand each other’s loneliness.”
More scribbles.
“It didn’t last long, though. Five weeks later, they sent Carlo and me to a boarding school. Every weekend our peers went home to their families, while we stayed at the school.”
My mind fills with memories of the long gray corridors, empty aside from Carlo and me. A shiver crawls over my skin, reminding me of how cold and unloved we felt.
“How did that make you feel?” Dr. Klein presses me.
My attention snaps to her, annoyed that she’s asking such ridiculous questions.
“Abandoned,” I snap.
The room falls silent, and the faint ticking of the clock reminds me that those days weren’t all bad.
“At least we had each other,” I say, my voice trailing off.
Her face tilts up to look at me, her eyes sad. I haven’t come here for sympathy, so I rush to fill the silence and distract her thoughts.
“From the age of six until my mid-twenties, Carlo was my constant companion; he quickly became my world. He understood me better than anyone else. He became my best friend, my confidant, my protector and eventually, our relationship developed into more.”
Now, sitting here and reflecting on my life, I can finally see the blank spaces, the missed moments, the silences I wasn’t sure how to fill.
In hindsight, the gaps are obvious. So are the opportunities I let slip through them.
I don’t enjoy thinking about my childhood. But if I’m ever going to make sense of what I’ve done, of the damage I’m still doing, then I must. It seems this is my final chance to get it right.
I just want to stop hurting the people who truly love me, all because I’m too afraid of being judged by the ones who should have.
“What do you think you were looking for from Carlo?”
That strikes me as a strange question, a typical counselor question. I lean back again, rolling my eyes at the ceiling.
“I idolized him. Wanted to be like him. Over the years, he turned the bitterness he felt about his abandonment into confidence. Very little fazed him. He was charming and had a practiced, effortless manner with people that I always craved.”
She bobs her head, scrutinizing me with her beady eyes, as if believing she can read my mind.
“Were you envious of the way people responded to him—your father, girls, even you?”
I open my mouth to deny it but stop myself. I’m uncertain if it was jealousy exactly. Maybe longing. Maybe both.
“My dad adored him. Carlo could do no wrong in his eyes.”
A slight bob of her head encourages me to keep speaking.
“Every year when we got our end-of-year report cards from school, he’d compare us against each other. Carlo didn’t always beat my results. But he used to charm the schoolmasters and always ended up with a glowing report.”
I smile darkly, remembering Dad’s response when he caught Carlo in a compromising situation with one of their maids.
“That’s an intriguing smile, Mr. Barton-Jones. Would you care to share your thoughts?”
