Back to Chapter 04
Chapter 5 - Counseling
The alarm went off just a few hours later. Ruthie was dead-tired and it
took her longer than normal to rouse herself. She heard Shannon mumble a
complaint about the noise before she finally managed to sit up and hit
the �off� button. She got up and made her way to the student center
across a campus that still was totally dark and cold. She set up as
usual, but did not bother turning on the news. She preferred to be alone
with her thoughts.
Her vague hope about Mike having paid attention to her and her ongoing
hatred of Shannon were jumbled up with a bunch of other worries and
concerns. Her mind was wandering more than normal; she was completely
unable to focus on any topic for more than a few seconds. Had she been
forced to think or engage in an activity she was not accustomed to, she
would have had a very difficult time concentrating. However, there was
nothing new or challenging about setting up the coffee shop for the day,
nothing to tax her already overly-stressed brain.
That morning there was a very unfortunate coincidence when Ruthie�s
co-worker showed up early and Mike came in a few minutes later than
normal. He had slept very deeply because the rare silence in his room
and had woken up just before 7:00. He ordered the first coffee of the
day; Same order as always, black with a small amount of half-and-half,
no sugar. With her co-worker present, Ruthie was not very communicative.
Mike interpreted her behavior as hostile: he assumed that she was angry
at him and that he had offended her in some way. He nervously drank his
coffee, said good-bye and put his usual dollar in the tip jar.
Ruthie�s anxiety turned into despair as she watched Mike depart.
Resentment built up inside her, directed at both Mike for showing up
late and at her co-worker for messing up her morning with his presence.
----------
Mike left the coffee shop almost as upset as Ruthie. His atrocious luck
with women was holding up. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe he could
connect with that weird girl in the coffee shop. But obviously something
was missing, because he was convinced that he had offended her in some
way and had no clue what it could have been.
Following his morning classes, Parking Enforcement Officer # 36 picked
up his ticketing machine and 400 envelopes. He knew that there would be
just as many idiots parking in Econ-A and not paying the meters as the
day before. It would take several days of hard-core ticketing before the
lot started to clear out. In the meantime he could work on his ticketing
stats and vent his anger on all of those arrogant shit-bags who thought
they were too cool to pay the meters. BMW�s�Jeeps�Escalades�yeah, he was
gonna get �em all.
----------
Ruthie passed an unpleasant morning, not only because of her
disappointment over not being able to talk to Mike, but also because she
was starting to dislike her co-worker more and more. There were numerous
petty disagreements over things such as what music to play and how loud,
whose turn it was to clean out the coffee machines, and finally a
fifteen-minute smoke break that lasted a half an hour. Towards the end
of her shift, Ruthie experienced another unfortunate incident that
soured her mood even further. An arrogant sorority bitch, of the sort
that Ruthie stereotyped with the bleached hair and huge tits that could
not possibly have been natural, ordered a six-dollar mocha-latte. She
took back her change and separated the pennies. The bitch put the coins
in her purse except for the pennies, which she put in the tip jar. There
were three pennies and Ruthie heard them�clink�clink�clink. The sorority
girl flashed Ruthie a neutral glance and took her drink. She displayed
the same emotion that she would have shown if she were taking something
from a vending machine.
Suddenly all of the resentment Ruthie felt towards the rich hit her full
force. At that moment she was holding a coffee pot full of hot water.
The urge to flip up the lid and throw scalding water into the customer�s
face was overwhelming. She actually did flip up the lid. Her hands began
shaking, so much so that boiled water began spilling out of the pot. She
felt a sharp pain on her ankle as some of the water splashed on her leg.
The pain made her jump and brought her to her senses. Already the
sorority bitch had turned and was leaving. However, Ruthie�s nerves were
on edge, because she realized that she had just come very close to
committing a serious crime.
It was only 10:00, but Ruthie realized that she needed to leave work. In
less than two days she had seriously contemplated suicide and come very
close to throwing boiling water at a customer. Her hands were still
shaking. She turned to her co-worker.
�I need to go.�
�Well, you can�t. You�ve still got another hour.�
�Then you can�t take 30-minute smoke breaks. I�m leaving, and the deal
is I don�t say anything about your smoke breaks and you don�t say
anything about me leaving. Anyhow, it�s just for today.�
Before her co-worker could think of an answer, Ruthie took off her apron
and pulled her cash drawer.
----------
Ruthie�s mind normally housed a muddle of thoughts at any moment, but
she was unusually focused when she left the student center. She realized
that she needed help. The thought of committing suicide did not bother
her, because she had toyed with the idea for several years. However, the
thought of doing something that would send her to jail did scare her.
She wouldn�t mind dying in the least, but the idea of sitting in jail
and having a criminal record was enough motivation for her to take
action.
Fortunately the university counseling center was not crowded. She was
handed a form in which she had to provide her personal information,
followed by a long list of questions, including:
Do you feel you have trouble expressing your feelings? � yes
Do you feel that no one understands you? � yes
Do you feel that other people treat you unfairly? � yes
Do you have problems getting along with your family? � yes
Do you have problems getting along with co-workers and/or classmates?
�
yes
Do you have any friends on campus? � no
How often do you go out with other people just for fun? � never
Do you have a roommate? � yes
Please rate your relationship with your roommate from one (lowest) to
ten (highest) � one
Please explain � she�s a total bitch and treats me like shit
Are your parents divorced? � yes
Do you have regular contact with both parents? � no
Please think of one word to describe your life before you entered
college � sucked
Please think of one word to describe your life now � sucks
Do you worry about your financial situation? � yes
Do you have trouble concentrating in class? � yes
Do you have trouble sleeping? � yes
Do you feel lonely? � yes
Some of the time, most of the time, or all of the time? � All of the
time.
Do you feel hopeless at times? � yes
Some of the time, most of the time, or all of the time? � Most of the
time.
Do you feel depressed? � yes
Some of the time, most of the time, or all of the time? � Most of the
time.
Please rate your happiness from one (lowest) to ten (highest) �
one
Have you ever thought about hurting yourself? � yes
Have you ever thought about hurting others? � yes
Have you ever considered suicide? � yes
If you have considered suicide, do you have a specific plan? �
yes
Fifteen minutes after she turned in the form, the receptionist asked her
if she could come to an appointment at 3:00 that afternoon. No problem.
Ordinarily that was the time that she�d be sitting under the shade in
her �private spot�. However, Mike had ensured that the �private spot�
would not be so private anymore and she had nothing else going on at
that time of the day, so�sure�she could make it.
----------
Shortly before 3:00 Ruthie returned to the counseling center. By that
time she was starting to have doubts about actually going to her
appointment, but she could not work up the nerve to cancel. She
nervously looked around the waiting area. There were two guys waiting as
well, one of them somewhat overweight and the other very
ordinary-looking. My fellow psychos, she thought to herself.
A counselor who introduced herself as Lynn Hartman called Ruthie�s name.
Hartman was in her mid-30�s. She was well-dressed and only slightly
taller than Ruthie, with medium-length brown hair done up in a casual
style that would have been fine had she been a bit younger, but looked a
bit out of place with the rest of her professional appearance. She spoke
with the usual soothing voice that it seemed all counselors used with
their clients. Ruthie vaguely wondered if they taught counselors to talk
like that as part of their major, or if for some reason the soothing way
of talking came naturally.
When the two women entered Hartman�s office, Ruthie plopped herself into
the most comfortable chair she had ever sat in. Hell, she thought to
herself; I�d come here just to sit in this chair. The office had some
props to help calm clients� nerves: a couple of misty landscape
photographs, one of those small desktop waterfalls, and a side table
with a couple of paperweights that a person could fiddle with while
talking.
In the background Hartman had some music playing. It was a strange but
very soothing song in a foreign language Ruthie did not recognize, sung
by the most beautiful woman�s voice she had ever heard. As nervous as
she was at the moment, Ruthie was curious about the music. Hartman
responded that it was from a European group called �Socrates�
Mistresses�.
�Her voice is addictive, isn�t it?�
Ruthie nodded.
Hartman looked over Ruthie�s questionnaire and asked her new client to
talk about herself and what she was doing at the university. Quickly she
found out that Ruthie had no trouble talking about impersonal topics
such as her majors, but was much more reserved talking about herself. As
the hour progressed, Hartman slowly worked her way towards finding out
how close her client really was to �doing harm� to herself or someone
else. It was obvious the girl was dealing with plenty of other issues as
well, but those would have to wait. The main worry for the moment was
the suicide issue.
Even when Ruthie talked about general topics, Hartman could tell that
the student had been brutally honest on her form about her difficulty
connecting with other students and that failure had left her both very
depressed and very bitter. Hartman also realized that Ruthie was very
literal and that she gauged the world by what people said to her, not by
how they acted. What that meant was that if the counselor wanted Ruthie
to tell her something, she would not elicit any information by dropping
hints. She would have to ask directly. At the same time she could not be
overly direct for fear of intimidating her client. She talked in general
about the questionnaire and then got to the point.
�Ruthie, I�m seeing from your form that you�ve given suicide some
thought.�
Ruthie looked at the floor and started fidgeting.
�I �spose that�s true, Dr. Hartman.�
�Is that why you came here? To talk about that?�
�Not really, Dr. Hartman. If it was just that, it really wouldn�t
matter. But I did something else today�or almost did it, and it kinda
scared me��
Ruthie suddenly became very talkative, rambling on about how close she
came to throwing boiling water on a client just because she put three
pennies in the tip jar. At first she felt ashamed of herself for being
so infuriated over something that was much more an act of
thoughtlessness than an insult. When she finished Hartman totally
surprised her with her response.
�I�m going to tell you that you had every right to be so angry with that
customer. I don�t think you were imagining things. She was trying to
insult you. Had I been in your shoes I would have wanted to do exactly
what you wanted to do. To be honest, I think you exercised remarkable
self-control in that situation. The fact that you were able to do that
says a lot about the strength of your own character.�
Ruthie looked up, because that was not what she was expecting to hear.
Hartman continued:
�You have feelings, and there�s nothing wrong with that. You should
never feel guilty about your feelings. What you need to do is accept
your feelings, and then come to terms with what�s going on. It sounds
like you have a tough life, and maybe we can work on making it less
tough for you.�
Ruthie nodded.
�Here�s a question for you. Do you think that customer is more important
than you? Is she a better person or more worthwhile than you are?�
Ruthie thought for a moment. Finally she answered: �I don�t think she�s
better than me. She�s worse. I mean, I don�t do shit like that to other
people.�
�Then I�m a bit puzzled why you think so little of yourself that you
wouldn�t come in here to talk about your desire to hurt yourself, but
you are willing to talk about hurting someone who insulted you.�
�It�s just because I got scared of getting in trouble. It�s not because
I think she�s more important than I am.�
�So dying doesn�t scare you, but getting in trouble does? Don�t you
think you have your priorities a bit mixed up?�
�No. That�s not it. It�s just that my life sucks enough as it is. I just
don�t want it to get any worse.�
�Ruthie, I want to get back to something you said. When I asked you if
you came in here to talk about suicide you told me that �if it was just
that, it really wouldn�t matter.� Is that how you look at your own life,
that it really doesn�t matter?�
�Pretty much. I mean, if I had any friends, or anyone who gave a shit
about me, or at least I could have some fun, or I had some money to buy
what I wanted, then my life would matter. But I don�t have any of those
things, and everyone hates me. My life sucks, it always has sucked, and
it always will suck. So if I kill myself, what difference does it make?�
�I�d like to think that our time together can help you see that your
life isn't pointless, and really is worth living, and that it does make
a difference.�
Hartman looked at her client hoping for an answer, but the only response
Ruthie could come up with was to shrug her shoulders. The counselor was
not surprised, because the student was dealing with a lot of issues. She
suspected that they had only touched the surface of everything that was
bothering Ruthie and that it would take several sessions before she
could even come up with a preliminary diagnosis. What was most important
was that Ruthie had someone to talk to, which hopefully would forestall
any crises until Hartman could come up with a strategy that would help
her pull herself out of her emotional abyss. Communication was vital.
�We�ll set up an appointment for next week, but in the meantime I want
you to keep two things in mind. I�ll give you a couple of my cards, and
if you need to get a hold of me you can reach me through the emergency
counseling line, or you can e-mail me. There�s another thing I�d like
you to do. I want you to keep a journal. Write whatever you want in
there, but of course it would help us the most if you could talk about
your feelings or about stuff that is bothering you.�
Noting the skeptical look on her client�s face, Hartman elaborated:
�I know it�s more work for you, as though you don�t have enough as it
is. But you�re going to forget things if you don�t write them down;
stuff that you�re dealing with throughout the week, maybe memories from
high school, your family�it�s all important. And always remember that
what happens to you does matter to me.�
----------
Ruthie left the counselor�s office in a somewhat better frame of mind
than upon going in. She was looking forward to having someone to talk
to, even if that person was paid to listen to her and viewed her with
the detached label of �patient�. I suppose she�s seen plenty of us
psychos over the years. I�m probably nothing special compared to some of
the others she�s had to deal with.
Out of curiosity she passed by the sidewalk of the economics building to
see what was going on in lot Econ-A. The majority of the cars already
had red envelopes on their windshields, except for a handful of people
who had wised up and already started paying the meters. Ruthie knew that
if Mike kept at it, the next day more meters would be paid, and more the
day after that. He had explained that eventually non-compliance in the
lot would be reduced to about 30-40 hard-core violators, students who
would continue to challenge him until their cars got towed.
----------
Ruthie wanted to talk to Mike, but she was too full of self-doubt at
that moment, in spite of the slight emotional lift that Lynn Hartman was
able to give her. Instead she wandered in the direction of her next
class in the Foreign Language Building.
The usual muddle of thoughts returned to Ruthie�s mind as she approached
her class. She saw a street preacher arguing with a couple of Hari
Khristnas. She resisted the urge to scream:
�You�re all full of shit! You and you stupid imaginary friends and your
money-grubbing bullshit! That crap doesn�t exist!�
She remained lost in her internal world as she walked around to the
other side of the building and crossed the bike path.
Just as she approached the main entrance of Foreign Language Building
she heard a sudden screech of bike tires and felt a very hard blow
against her arm. She saw a bright yellow flash as she fell on the
cement. The young woman on the bicycle who had just hit her struggled to
regain control and not crash.
�Watch it, you stupid bitch!�
Ruthie was sitting on ground where she fell. The wind had been knocked
out of her and for a second she was too shocked to react. The girl on
the bicycle, seeing that Ruthie was not much of an opponent, decided to
circle back and confront her.
�What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking stupid or what?�
�I�I wasn�t looking�sorry��
�I nearly got fucking killed because of you! I oughta kick your fucking
ass! Dumb-ass bitch!�
The bicyclist dismounted and gave Ruthie�s backpack a tremendous kick
that sent it rolling into the grass. Still in shock over the blow to her
arm and having been knocked down, Ruthie struggled to get up. The
bicyclist pushed her to the ground.
�If I ever see you walking in the bike lane again, I�ll fuck you up, you
stupid piece of shit!�
Having established her dominance, the bicyclist mounted and rode off.
Several students were looking at Ruthie, but none offered to help her.
She struggled to her feet and noticed that one of her knees was skinned.
Her t-shirt had a tear on the side where she had been hit.
She reached for her backpack and with dismay noticed that it was wet.
Even before she opened it she knew why: she had a carton of apple juice
in with her books, and it must have broken open when that girl kicked
the pack. She pulled out several very wet books and dumped out what was
left of the juice.
Ruthie�s eyes welled up with tears as she went into the women�s bathroom
and tried to wipe off her books. She wrapped them in paper towels,
hoping to sop up as much of the juice as possible. She put some soap on
her scrape and winced at the sting. Then she looked at the shirt in the
mirror. It was badly torn under the arm and could not be fixed.
She forced herself to go to class, even though she was late and feeling
very sick to her stomach. Fortunately the professor realized by looking
at her that she had just been in an accident and said nothing as she sat
down. She spent the rest of the class trying to listen, but with the
trauma of the bicycle crash fresh in her mind there was no way she could
pay attention.
The shock and pain of the accident faded as the class wore on, but those
emotions were replaced by frustration, anger, and eventually,
self-loathing. Ruthie mourned her ruined books and torn shirt, but what
truly upset her was the fact that she had been totally unable to react
when that bicyclist accosted her. The other student was the one who had
run into her, and yet it was Ruthie who ended up taking the blame.
Why was it always like this? Why was she always the loser of each and
every confrontation she had ever been in? What was wrong with her, that
she was so totally incapable of sticking up for herself?
----------
By the time Ruthie left class, her depression had returned stronger than
ever. She knew the pattern: something unpleasant or traumatic would
happen, she would have a burst of anger that eventually turned into
self-loathing, and finally that faded into a numbness that could last
for several hours or several days. She resisted the temptation to toss
her books into the trash. She wanted to, because from that point forward
seeing the stained pages and smelling spoiled apple juice always would
remind her of the ugly encounter with that bitch on the bicycle.
However, she had to keep the books, no matter what condition they were
in, because she did not have the money to buy replacements.
Ruthie wandered aimlessly in the twilight as the numb dead feeling
penetrating her soul intensified. Her shoulder was starting to hurt,
which left her wondering if she may have sustained injuries beyond
bruises and her scraped knee. I hope so, she thought to herself. I hope
I have internal bleeding and I go to bed and don�t wake up tomorrow.
That would be nice.
----------
Ruthie needed to study, but there was no way she could concentrate given
her bleak mood. She wandered around campus in the gathering darkness.
She would miss dinner at the dorm, but at that point she didn�t care.
She walked along the sidewalk, alone. Always alone. A group of sorority
girls passed her and did not even notice that she was there. Several
couples walked by, followed by two professors arguing about a grant
program. The point was that none of those other people were alone, but
Ruthie was. Again she asked herself: what is wrong with me? Am I really
so disgusting?
She walked all around campus, ignoring the smell of stale apple juice
coming from her backpack and the pain in her shoulder. Whenever she got
to the edge of campus, she turned around and walked in a different
direction. In the darkness she was afraid to go beyond the confines of
the university. Anyhow there was no point in leaving because there were
no interesting stores or entertainment in Davenport. For entertainment
and shopping, students needed to drive to Santa Cruz and Ruthie had no
car, as she had confessed to Mike earlier in the week. She had no
friends, either. That too, she had confessed. The inadvertent admission
was so humiliating because it was true. After nearly two months on
campus, Ruthie did not have any friends in Davenport. There was no one
to give her a ride to Santa Cruz and no one to hang out with. She
watched cars go by, most of them full of groups of students leaving the
university.
Ruthie Burns was not going anywhere. She would stay behind. She returned
to her room and found that her roommate was not there. She went to bed,
relieved that for the moment she did not have to face yet another person
who hated her.
