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I slam the door closed before hurrying to pull on a pair of shorts. I pull my hair into a bun on top of my head as I head down the stairs to find an older woman with a briefcase in the foyer.
“Katelyn?” She asks and I nod my head. “I’m Doctor Wilson. Is there somewhere private we can sit and talk?”
“Sure.”
I find the study next to my father’s is empty and let her in before closing the door behind us. She takes a seat, pulls out a binder, and glances over it.
“So, your father tells me you deal with PTSD?” She asks and I say nothing. “I have to be honest it’s been difficult to find your records. I’m assuming there is a long process to transfer care from England. That’s where you’ve been the last four years?”
No.
“Yes.”
“And before that? You spent some time at an outpatient clinic here after your mother’s death?”
My chest tightens at the reminder and I nod my head.
“I’m very sorry for your loss. And of course the details I’m sure are traumatic. We don’t need to talk about that today. Are you currently taking any medications?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows furrow as she looks over paperwork. “Your father’s notes say you have a prescription for diazepam? As an injection?”
I grip my hands into fists.
“I don’t need it,” I say through gritted teeth.
She frowns as she continues looking through paperwork. “Perhaps he wrote this incorrectly. The dosage written here seems to be far too high. Especially as an injection. I’ll continue working on getting the rest of your notes from your doctor overseas. How about other things? School? Hobbies? You were at a school studying music?”
“Yeah but, I don’t think I’ll be continuing with that.”
“Oh no?” She asks, eyeing me curiously.
“Realized it’s just not for me anymore.”
It falls silent briefly until she realizes I’m not talking anymore on the matter and nods softly.
“And emotionally? How are you? Panic attacks lately?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Sometimes. But they aren’t like they used to be.”
She nods with a soft smile and it makes the wrinkles around her eyes more defined. “That’s good. That’s good. How about self harm? Eating? How is that all going?”
Lovely. My father actually filled her in on slim parts of the truth.
“Better.”
When it falls silent again, she sighs.
“I’m sure there are much better things you’d rather be doing this morning. I’m not trying to pick apart your life. But, you are still listed as unable to make sound decisions for yourself. I just want to help you move forward and regain some independence.”
“Wait, what?”
Her voice cracks as she eyes me. “You— you didn’t know?”
“Absolutely not. When did that happen?”
“It looks like shortly after your mother died. After a suicide attempt?” She says ruffling through her papers. “It is strange it’s taken so long to sort things out but it must have been hard while you were out of the states.”
