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His throat felt tight,the words lodged like jagged stones he couldn't swallow. He needed this—neededsomeone to listen, to understand the cacophony in his head that wouldn'tsilence itself. It had been too long since anyone had heard him, really heard him.
‘I'm... at my witsend,’ he finally managed to say. ‘I just needed someone to talk to.’
‘Of course,’ Gailnodded, her eyes never leaving his face. They were pools of serenity thatbeckoned to him, promising a reprieve from the hurricane of his thoughts. ‘Whydon't you start by telling me a bit about yourself? What is it that feels sooverwhelming?’
He hesitated, a tremorrunning through his body. This was the precipice, the moment before the plungeinto a truth so dark it might swallow them whole. 'My name's Simon. I'mtwenty-six. I'm single, live alone. I don't have a job, but benefits keep megoing. That's... pretty much everything.'
Gail's response was anod, gentle and understanding, devoid of any judgment that he had bracedhimself for. 'Life is tough for your generation,' she said. ‘Being alone canmake everything feel much heavier. Can you tell me more about what's beentroubling you?’
‘The main reason I'mhere is because... I've been getting these urges,’ he started, his voicetrailing off as he gauged her reaction.
‘Urges?’ Gailprompted.
‘Urges to act out,’ heclarified, feeling the room shrink around him.
Gail put her her pento paper. 'To act out? How so?'
‘To attack people,' hesaid firmly. 'I see something that aggravates me and I just... lose control.'
Her eyes flickeredwith a shadow of fear, a fleeting tremor akin to the anxious glances his motherwould cast whenever he approached her with a secret too heavy for his youngheart to bear alone.
But like a comfortingecho from the past, that fear swiftly gave way to a profound compassion,enveloping him in a warmth reminiscent of his mother's embrace duringthunderous nights.
It was as if she hadstepped from the pages of his memories, her presence suffusing the room withthe familiar scent of home and safety. In her gaze danced the same tendernessthat had once calmed his restless spirit, a gentle reassurance that whispered ofunderstanding and acceptance. It began to feel as though he was sitting notbefore a stranger, but in the comforting presence of his beloved motherherself.
'Give me an example.What aggravates you?'
'Right now,everything. Yesterday, I saw a woman in a coffee shop scold her child. Thismorning, I saw some teens throwing rocks at cars. Both times, I just went intoa trance. I just want to reach out and choke the life out of them, rip theirlegs off, throw their bodies into wood chippers.' He felt himself boiling over,then breathed himself back to the present. 'Then I spend the next few daysstewing on it.'
Gail wrote somethingdown in her notebook. 'What about these things annoy you, exactly?'
He shifteduncomfortably on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight as hestruggled to articulate feelings that had long been shadows. 'I don't know. Theinjustice, maybe. It's like these people are wasting what they have, like theydon't know how lucky they are.'
Gail nodded, her penpausing over the paper. 'It sounds like these incidents trigger feelings ofanger and injustice within you, emotions that are deeply rooted. It's not theactions themselves but what they represent to you. Does that sound reasonable?'
'Yes.'
'And how do you dealwith these urges?'
'I don't,' he said,only half lying. 'I just bottle it up until it goes away. But it never reallygoes away, does it? It just simmers until the next time.’
‘Let's go back,’ Gailsuggested calmly. ‘Back to when these urges first began. Can you remember thatfar?’
He nodded, themovement jerky and fraught with tension. ‘Since I was a child,’ he admitted,the admission feeling like shards of glass on his tongue. ‘But I could keepthem in check.’
‘How did you managethat?’ Gail's pushed, inviting him to uncover the layers of his past.
‘Mom,’ he said, theword a talisman that held the power of years of restraint. ‘She was my rock.Whenever it got too bad, she would... she'd talk me down.’
Gail nodded. ‘Please,continue.’
He drew in ashuddering breath and exhaled slowly, trying to tether himself to the present.‘It got worse. I became... a recluse, barricading myself from the world. But itwasn't enough. The urges grew stronger. Even Mom struggled to calm me down.’ Abitter laugh escaped him, laced with the sour tang of betrayal. ‘I started tosuspect... that she'd told someone about... what I am.’
‘Who do you think shetold?’ Gail asked.
‘Maybe the police...child protection services...’ His words trailed off into uncertainty. Thethought had haunted him for as long as he could remember.
‘Did she?’ Gailprodded further, unflinching in the face of his distress.
