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AFuture Therapy Session (1)
Mid-December
“Let the record show the patient has given consent for this and future sessions to be recorded. This is patient number 274, Tyler Hayes, 22-year-old male, referred by the NHL Player Assistance Program for drug and alcohol abuse along with mental health struggles including suicidal ideation. Patient is currently on long-term injured reserve as a result of injuries sustained from involvement in a DUI accident, during which he was a passenger. This is therapy session number one with the patient.”
Hayes leaned back in the chair across from Dr. Rosa, the therapist to whom he’d been referred as part of his inpatient rehabilitation and recovery program. His arms were crossed, his left ankle resting on his right knee and his gray wool hat pulled partially down, covering his eyes.
“So, Tyler, I see that you didn’t complete the mental health assessment form prior to this session. Can you tell me why that is?”
He snapped his gum obnoxiously. “Hayes.”
She shot him a puzzled look. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t fuckin’ call me Tyler, lady. I go by Hayes.”
“OK then. Hayes it is. So, Hayes, can you tell me why you didn’t complete the mental health assessment form prior to our session like I requested?”
“Yeah,” he replied smugly. “Because I didn’t fuckin’ feel like it.”
“Understood. Do you think maybe we could go over some of those questions now, so I can get a baseline for you, understand you a little better?”
Hayes rolled his eyes and snapped his gum again. “Nah.”
“Ty…I mean, Hayes,” she began, putting her clipboard and pen down on the table next to her and staring at him. “I want to help you…”
He scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, switching his legs so his right ankle now rested on his left knee. “You wanna help me? That’s fuckin’ funny.”
“Why is that funny?”
“You know what?” He leaned his head back and sighed, lifting his hat a bit and staring back at her. He took notice of the fact that, even though he wasn’t into chicks anymore, she was very pretty. “I don’t have time for this shit.”
“With all due respect, Hayes, you’ve got nothing but time right now. So, it looks like you’ve just completed your detox, is that correct?”
“Yup.”
“And how did that go for you?”
He smirked. “How the fuck do you think it went, lady?”
“I don’t know, Hayes. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“I’m sure you’ve been around plenty of scumbags goin’ through opioid withdrawal. It was the worst goddamn week of my life, and I thought I was gonna die.” “But you didn’t. You made it through. That has to feel good, right?”
“Oh yeah, so good,” he mocked. “It feels real good knowin’ I’m a 22-year-old junkie. Fuckin’ amazing.”
“But you’re getting help, Hayes. That’s what should feel good.”
“Well, it doesn’t, considering they’re just pumpin’ me full of some other bullshit.”
“That’s necessary, Hayes. Buprenorphine and naloxone help your body adjust, and it’s only temporary.”
“Yay,” he muttered.
Dr. Rosa proceeded with the patience of a saint, repeatedly prodding Hayes to answer questions and being met with nothing but staunch obstinance. If there was one thing Tyler Hayes did with proficiency, it was letting others know in no uncertain terms that, until he was ready to accept them, they could fuck right the hell off.
“I want to try a counseling model with you known as Seeking Safety,” she continued. “Are you familiar with it?”
He shook his head. “Enlighten me.”
