Because of my teachers concerns that Liz and I may be on drugs, I had to start mandatory drug and alcohol counseling through school (despite that fact that I never drank nor did drugs). My counselors name was Stacey and she came from Behavioral Connections. Stacey was nice, but no amount of niceness could make up for the fact that she had a large mole, the size of a dime on her right eye. Once a week I met with Stacey in a sick room that was more along the lines of a dilapidated janitor’s closet. She would ask me questions like “do the whites of your eyes turn yellow”, in which case I would just unwillingly stare at her mole and wonder how the hell I ended up there.
I was also on probation at this time. I was given probation of no less then 6 months, and depending on the discretion of my probation officer and parents, I would remain on it anywhere up until my 18th birthday. My probation officers name was Brian Cox and he was awesome. I had to meet with him twice a month usually, once at his office with my mother, and once at school alone. When I we met at his office it reminded me much of my sessions with Keith. I sat silently as my mother expressed her concerns and he listened attentively while nodding his head. She over exaggerated nearly every situation, but I knew it was pointless to try to defend myself. I waited until I met with Brian at school, in which case our meetings were a welcomed relief from any class I may have been in at the time. Unfortunately our talks were always brief. Aside from debating on whether or not to get some kind of restraining order between me and Liz, my parents were currently pushing for him to extend my probation. I knew that if it were up to him alone he wouldn’t have done it, but legally he had to honor my parents’ request. We usually just sat and made small talk, talked about sports, sometimes I would take the opportunity to defend myself from anything my parents had said in our previous meeting. These talks were refreshing because he sympathized with me and credited me as an intelligent girl who just made a mistake. Brian had much more severe cases to deal with, and we both knew that. I thought about the delinquents who had thrown paper at me trying to get my attention, I’m sure he had those kids to deal with. I was his easiest case and we were wasting each others time, but there was nothing either of us could do about it.
As I said, my problems at school did not make my problems at home any easier. Just as things had slowly started to cool down with my parents, they had fired back up again. It wasn’t long until I found myself back in counseling yet again. This time I didn’t go to family services, instead I had a new counselor at the Fort Meigs Psychiatric Center. My mother and I went in together on my first session, where we were directed to a brightly lit room with giant windows. Everything I looked at was floral, big floral overstuffed couches with fluffy floral pillows, puffy floral curtains and drapes, even floral wallpaper. This place made me sick. It was the exact opposite of my first counseling environment at Family Services. This was not the kind of environment I wanted to open up in, this place reminded me of the gynecologist’s office, another place I did not like to open up in (ha!). My counselor was young, bright, and bubbly. She introduced herself to us as “Lizzie”, and I could feel my mother cringe. This was the first thing that pleased me about the entire situation.
My sessions with Lizzie were monotonous and boring and I don’t think I ever really confided in her. I think a large part of that was the fact that she was a female (I would find later on in life that I tend to form better bonds with males, particularly older ones). Together, we accomplished absolutely nothing. It wasn’t her fault, she tried her best. Her office made me insanely uncomfortable and talking to her only made me miss my days of talking to Keith. I was completely unresponsive and our sessions only lasted a few weeks.
Despite the fact that my parents rarely ever supported the idea of me leaving the house or doing anything that could be defined under the word “fun”, they began to lighten up a little. Of course, I am well aware that by now the only reason is because they were concerned with my sexuality, thanks to my Spanish teacher. So unlike the reactions of most parents when their daughters begin to hang out with boys, my parents seemed to almost encourage it.
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