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July 19 (London)
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“Kyle, when psychologists are confronted with mental problems they cannot diagnose, they send their patients to psychiatrists to prescribe medicine. Not me. I have the lowest rates of prescribing medicine.”
“Congratulations.” Kyle was bored out of his mind. He flopped on the couch and stared at the ceiling, imagining what Juniper would be doing right now. She’d be done with the museum and strolling past Trafalgar, head swiveling at the sights and sounds of London, equally fascinated by the Medieval alleys and modern window displays. He loved the childlike wonder she had.
“I do believe in neuro-chemical therapy,” Marcel said with a polite smile. If he was annoyed at Kyle’s nonchalance, he hid it well. “But I also know some things that cause us pain are self-inflicted. And talking through the issues, isolating those self-harms, can eradicate the problem itself.”
“And what self-harms do you see in me?” Kyle asked, his mind still on Juniper. She was now probably minding the gap and getting in the Tube, jam-packed in a horde of commuters, which was her fault, as the stubborn girl refused to be picked up.
“I think you are a trauma survivor. Your parents abandoned you. Their divorce. Leaving Michigan. A new life with your mother. The fire you started when you heard she was leaving. Her moving to England. You raised by your housekeeper. That is no small trauma for a 10-year-old child to endure.”
Stop, Kyle thought, but never said out loud. The scabs were fresh again, the wounds bleeding again.
Chloe came into the room and stood by Marcel, shaking her head.
“You have never quite had time to mourn your trauma. Instead, you had a difficult youth. A troubled youth. Lots of aggression and fighting in your teens. Bullied. And fighting back. Self-harm. And your adult development was hijacked by a girl called Chloe.”
Chloe glared at Marcel, baring her teeth.
I hate him, she hissed.
“No,” Kyle whispered. “I am her villain and she’s my victim.”
“You are both each other’s victim. But you are a survivor of that episode. She did not survive. It was a toxic relationship, mostly because of her toxic personality. Chloe underwent severe debilitating depression, and perhaps you were both too young to recognize it.”
That Kyle knew to be true. Chloe had been bi-polar, of that he was sure. Her parents had been too much in love with their beautiful, effervescent daughter to notice it wasn’t just tantrums and pigheadedness with her, but something darker and deeper that needed to be addressed, not just shrugged off as a passing phase of youth.
Marcel snapped a finger at Kyle. “I need you to forgive yourself. I don’t want to give you happy pills; you don’t need a Band-Aid. You need to forgive yourself and move on with your life. You need to allow happiness in and let the bad stuff go. Now, tell me what makes you happy?”
“Juniper—” Kyle blurted. It was the first time he’d mentioned her name and the psychologist’s eyes sparked in a flow of electric current, like he knew there was someone and it was only a matter of time before Kyle revealed his past was ruining his present.
“Have you told her that?” Marcel asked as he examined the wallpaper, his eyes glazed.
“Earth to Dr. Equiano.” Kyle snapped his fingers, and the psychologist gave him a surprised look, like he’d forgotten he had a patient.
“I was thinking—about this study, the most comprehensive longitudinal study ever. It followed 268 male Harvard undergraduates from the class of 1938 who are well into their 90s. For 75 years, they collected data on various aspects of their lives. Education, career, love, marriage, divorce, children, retirement. You know what their universal conclusion was?”
“Hmm. People don’t wash their hands after using public bathrooms?”
“Very amusing.”
“Was it stupidity? Two things are infinite, says Einstein. The universe and human stupidity.”
“No, Kyle,” Marcel said, with a small smile. “The study concluded love really is all that matters, at least when it comes to determining long-term happiness and life satisfaction.”
“Not a cliché at all,” Kyle said with a mocking smile. He raised one finger to pontificate. “Love is all that matters.”
“I know you are a cynic, but the study’s director, psychiatrist George Vaillant, says there are two pillars of happiness: one is love. The other is finding a way of coping with life that does not push love away.”
...a way of coping with life that does not push love away...
After those words, Kyle listened to the details of the Harvard study like a lost kid in a classroom.
“When you push people away, they run,” he murmured, after Marcel stopped talking. “Like her. I thought she pushed me away. And I couldn’t have her. Because of her. But maybe, it’s the fact that I haven’t coped with my own life that pushes her away...”
“Then you find what she wants. Not what you need from her.”
“What she wants,” he repeated blankly.
A career.
But on her own.
