Chapter 1- An Anxious Reality
He's not okay, even though he wanted to be. He loves his friends, family, passions, and dreams. He has a lot going for him; smart, handsome, good grades, a running vehicle, yet his emotions kept him rendered.
Alex Christopher Xristi, a 19-year-old Black male in his second semester at MIT, finds himself forced to recall the moment when his heart broke. A red-headed storm that once gave him hope that love existed but could be taken away with a simple plane ride.
Alex sat in a therapy consultation, hands clammy and fidgeting - a comfort war between his right and left palms. His foot tapped as he was asked curated questions about why he was there.
He hated being analyzed and judged and preferred to be on the opposite end of it. Nothing gave Alex more anxiety and anger than being criticized for how he felt, and therapy was no different.
"Psychologists are the epitome of emotional judges, jurors, and executioners," he thought, clenching his jaw. His fingers drummed nervously on the arm of the chair, a faint tremor betraying his calm facade.
His foot continued to tap the soft fibers of the Aztec area rug that separated him and Dr. Ronnie Collins, a Massachusetts psychologist, ranked number 3 for best minority-catered emotional, mental, and behavioral therapy.
Alex recalled his research as the broad, Chicago-born doctor continued to analyze him during their meeting. The doctor's pen scratched against the paper, a rhythmic noise that somehow amplified the tension in the room.
Dr. Collins sat poised in his plush chair, his dark eyes calm but penetrating, as if searching for the right words to unlock Alex's defenses. He scribbled some notes on a clipboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. Alex wanted desperately to know what he was writing and whether his responses to the questions were right or wrong.
"Are your mother and father in your life as well?" Dr. Collins asked, his voice steady, yet gently probing.
"Yes," Alex replied with hesitancy. His question had a loaded answer considering his upbringing, but a simple question deserved a simple answer.
Dr. Collins continued to take notes, but Alex couldn't take the scribbling any longer and decided to get more context. "Excuse me, but what are these questions for again?"
The doctor paused and gave a gentle smile. "I know this may seem overwhelming for you, Alex, but as we discussed, I want to get to know more about why you are here. I'm asking these questions to get a better understanding and to help me remember our conversations."
"So, you're trying to build rapport through note-taking like an unorthodox college lecture," Alex replied.
Dr. Collins couldn't help but chuckle. "I never thought about it like that, but yes." He then put the clipboard aside, relaxed more in his chair, and clasped his hands.
"Alex, seeking professional help can be scary and overwhelming, especially for a Black man. You might feel judged, afraid, or even wonder if this is the right choice. You may even question if I'm the right person to assist in your growth."
Alex nodded in agreement, his eyes darting to the floor. His fingers tightened around the edge of his chair as he absorbed the doctor's words.
"My job is to assure you that this is a safe but forward-moving space. You can express yourself here and ask me anything. I will give you reflective questions and answers, not judge your feelings. But, this part of your journey also requires you to participate and try."
"Participate and try?" Alex questioned. "I'm not sure I understand."
Dr. Collins continued. "I'm not here to fix you, Alex, but to help you find solace and the courage to flow forward with resilience and a better understanding of yourself."
Alex shifted uncomfortably, his heart beginning to race. "Not here to fix me," he thought.
"Am I in over my head? I just want to forget about my pain and go back to my life. Is it really not that simple?"
Alex looked at the span of colors throughout the Aztec rug trying to take in what the doctor said. He was not prepared for this, and as Dr. Collins gave him that moment to digest, an unfamiliar feeling began to creep in.
"Alex, are you okay?" Dr. Collins asked concernly.
Alex swallowed hard and asked, "How many sessions will I need to be better?"
Dr. Collins' eyebrows furrowed as he gently responded, "Alex, healing has no set time and can sometimes be ongoing."
The thought of not knowing when he would be okay or where these sessions would lead set Alex's heart racing. He couldn't help but break into a cold sweat as panic took hold.
Alex had every part of his life mapped out, and any disruptions were unacceptable. He was taught to fix problems quickly and move on.
He felt dizzy and short of breath as he pondered more about what Dr. Collins said. His chest became tight, and it felt like the room had a mind of its own.
Dr. Collins recognized the onset of panic and prompted Alex to breathe, but his words were drowned by the racing thoughts that consumed Alex's mind.
The words "could not be fixed" echoed as the pressure in his chest locked.
"But everything was fixable," Alex thought, "and if it wasn't, the alternative was to discard it."
Memories flooded in, and the image of a red-headed woman taking a flight became clear.
He whispered, "That's why she threw me away."
