A Future Therapy Session （1）

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."

"It's an incredibly customizable model with a combination of treatments in the domains of cognitive, interpersonal, and behavioral. It won't require you to delve into any tough memories or relive any past trauma, though if that ends up being something you feel you'd like to discuss, I'm more than happy to listen. This model will primarily teach you coping skills, learning to recognize your triggers and combat them in ways that will keep you safe. Does that sound like something you'd like to work with me on?"

Shrugging, he replied, "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. No one is twisting your arm to be here, Hayes. But understand this: the league is continuing to pay you while you step away from hockey and work on yourself. If you choose to leave treatment before you're cleared by one of the professionals in this program, that payment will cease, as will the payment for this treatment. Do you understand that?"

Hayes sighed, shifting in his chair again, this time uncrossing his legs, placing both feet on the floor, and leaning back. He removed his hat, raked his fingers through his hair, and pulled it back on, leaving his eyes exposed. "Got it."

"Good. And thank you for leaving your hat up. It's nice to see your eyes. So why don't you let me get to know you a little bit?"

He studied her face: her eyes locked intently with his, her pen clutched in one hand and the other gripping her clipboard. She was younger, probably late 20's or early 30's, and though she seemed a little nervous, it appeared she knew her shit. "Fine. Whaddya wanna know about me?"

"Tell me why you're here."

"Because my team had an intervention and basically forced me to be here."

"No. I mean, tell me why you're here, Hayes."

He'd intended to offer her a complacent smirk; instead, his face instantly became hot with tears. He swiped at them bitterly, hanging his head in his hands for a moment before looking back up at her in desperation. "I'm here because…I'm fucked up."

"And what makes you say that?"

He looked down at his hands in his lap and picked nervously at his fingers. "Let's see. Growin' up, I watched my alcoholic mother get beaten and almost drink herself to death on multiple occasions. I have no idea who my fuckin' dad even is. I was sexually abused as a teenager and convinced that it was my fault ‘cause I had a big dick. I got hooked on alcohol and oxys and have taken just about every drug I could get my hands on, gettin' so obliterated on heroin one night that I cheated on the love of my life. I have zero recollection of how it happened, but he proceeded to break up with me anyway, takin' all that was left of my heart with him.

"My best friend in the entire world, who just so happens to be pregnant with what I'm almost positive is my kid? We don't even talk anymore. Um…oh, I've completely fucked up my career as a pro hockey player, which is the only thing I've ever wanted to do with my life, and if we're being' honest? I really wish I'd have fuckin' jumped that night."

His eyes, still cloudy with tears, lifted to meet hers again. "That about answer your question, Dr. Rosa?"