His hands filthed with dirt and sweat, wetting his school uniform- he hurriedly continues to dig the ground with a short but stout stick, successively with his other hand. He was just a kid, around 8 or 9 years old, thin and looks clumsy. It was already past five in the afternoon, and was starting to get dark, but the kid, with heavy breaths nevertheless did not mind nor felt afraid of the dark or the thought of being alone. He hastily continues to dig and dig.
"Paul! Come on bud, where are you?" A deep loud voice echoed from a distance.
Alarmed hearing the voice sounded almost close to him, he looked around, quickly stood up and went to an unfrequented area at the back of a classroom and hid the stick with it.
He frantically wiped off the dirt on his hands with the side of his pants before he rushed and ran toward where the voice came from.
"There you are! Look at you, you're a mess!" His father said. It initially sounded upset but he calmed right away seeing his son catching a breath with teary eyes, dirt on his cheek and hands.
"I'm sorry Papop…" Paul responded with a downcast head, hiding his bruised hands behind his back before a tear in his left eye rolled down his cheek.
His father sighed a big one and kneeled to match his son's height. "Don't be Paul." He said.
Paul started sobbing harder and tried facing his father but could not look directly anyway.
"I know what you did…" He reached and gently patted his son's head and ruffled his hair before continuing to talk. "You helped your classmate." He added. Although Paul could not see it with his head still cast down, Papop smiled warmly at Paul.
Hearing what his father said, Paul this time had the courage to look, wiped his tears off and stopped crying. He felt light knowing his Papop understood him.
"I only want to help other people do things right Papop…" Paul said with a soft voice.
"I know Paul, and I'm very proud of you." Papop responded, knowing in mind Paul would have always done such an act to help people before himself just like what happened in the past several times Papop's attention was called.
~~~~~~~~~
"Goodbye Paul!"
I responded with a wave and smiled watching my client walk out of my office with a very light mood and affect. I know he will not come back anymore, making this session we had possibly our last meeting, I really hope so!
It has been quite some time since he was referred to me. He was quite a problematic one, it took me more than 4 sessions before he stopped resisting and started cooperating with me. It's no easy task to do this job, sometimes I just feel like quitting- having to know and empathize with dreadful experiences and emotions almost as frequently as I get to breath- its draining. Well, you can say I'm to blame myself since I have always wanted this profession- helping one, the others first. But irony sometimes strikes and makes me feel I too need help. You don't tell them what to do and you most definitely do not ask why to their every statement. You listen, and listen, and listen until the client figures out their problem themselves.
The Client who waved his last goodbye to me is only 19 years old. He lived in an orphanage after his parents separated just weeks after they found out Josh, who is my client, was in substance abuse due to depression. He was arrested when he was 12 due to drugs; his father blamed his mother of Josh's addiction because of negligence and lack of attention to Josh. What his parents did not know, back when Josh was merely 9 years old, he saw his mother kissed and was seeing another man behind his father, every time Josh's father went out to work. When he turned 11, he started to understand the concept of infidelity, and it enraged him to the extent that he despised both his parents. The worst thing that happened was it was himself that he made to suffer. From a cute and innocent kid, Josh turned away from his parents and his world lost meaning. What he just knew then was to get away. He discovered to drink and get drunk, then he started smoking and eventually tried illegal drugs- he was involved in serious delinquency. Now, he is living on his own after serving the rehabilitation imposed on him on the condition that he reports to the authority every once in a while.
Hearing this experience from a 19-year-old kid, it's terribly depressing. He's been referred three times to different psychologists because of resistance to cooperation and every session with the past psychologists seemed to have no progress at all. When he was referred to me, I was distressed to hear such a story. I deemed to myself I must help this kid, it won't be easy, but I certainly will.
After several long-muted sessions, thinking that our progress was not going somewhere. I figured out that he lied to his previous psychologists. He was not told to meet a psychologist or a psychotherapist, and no one asked him from the authority that he reports to to do so. He was in need of help, and he knew it himself. The prior psychologists he had sessions with did not go well with him and failed to connect with him. But it was his choice to seek help, he did not need someone to sympathize with and feel sorry for him but all he needed was company and someone that listens to him.
When I saw him smile right before closing that door, I felt glad. When we conclude every session, we have had for the past months, he just stands up, walks out the door and slams it. Now it's different. I know now he is well.
Months just passed like days, like years feel like months. When I sink myself with my work, I remember my Papop.
"I'm always proud of you Paul."
His words still cling to me to this day, and it is what keeps me from giving up.
It was a long pause I had after that event, and I did not notice the smile on my face still hasn't faded. A weight on my shoulder now has been removed, finally I can go on like every other day again. The feeling of wanting to help just never ceases until I completely give help to others, its fulfilling and at the same time sometimes like a curse.
I stopped my work, arranged the papers that had been scattered on my desk pile by pile and carefully placed back my pen inside my penholder. As I did all that, I was feeling light rendering me holding my temples and gently pressing it until it hurt, consequently closing my eyes.
"I need to get fresh air!" I said to myself, leaning back on my chair and breathed in a big inhale followed by a slow and steady exhalation of carbon dioxide.
I slowly breathed in and out several times until I felt a sudden pain in my chest. Shocked, I opened my eyes wide and looked around my office, suddenly I was getting dizzy and deafening ringing of perpetuating sound I heard in my ears had gradually made me lose grasp of my state of consciousness.
I blacked out.
Mamom and Papop were in the kitchen having an exchange of talk and I knew it was something serious. They were sitting close to each other with their hands holding atop our dining table. I could not hear them clearly nor actually fathom what they are talking about but one thing's obvious to me was they were referring to me.
They don't usually get engaged like this to each other unless it's something of urgent or unless they are up to something, at least that is what I have grown to know. They are not really the type of couple that are sweet or cuddly with each other, but they love each other genuinely, anyway. I have not heard them quarrel or fight over something, even raising a voice was something I have been ignorant to witness from them.
I was hiding behind the wall adjacent to where they were sitting. I was holding on the edge of the wall so I could lean closer but would not cause my fall. My body was stationed in a slant with my feet situated away from the edge so I can assure that if I was to get caught eavesdropping, I could easily find my way to run and escape.
I was trying my desperate best to hear out the conversation my Mamom and Papop was having. But I can only hear so much.
"I'm worried it's affecting him." Mamom told Papop with a worried voice. I can sense that there was a hint of almost breaking and crying in her voice- it's shaping the mood of the entire room that I am getting teary myself despite the fact that I have little knowledge of what they are talking about or that was it me they are referring to.
Papop did not let out a single word after hearing that from my mother and gripped a tight hold on my mother's hand before hugging her. There I can see my Mamom's face better. My tears fell, parallel to my mother's state, I could not understand it, but I felt hurt.
After some time of silence between them, while Papop tightly hugged Mamom, Papop talked and slowly detached himself from the hug.
"Paul is a kind kid. He puts first the need of other people always a priority before himself. He's endangered himself because of it but it is because our son's heart is pure." Papop said in soft and calm tone.
Hearing my father, I can confirm that it really was me that they are having a conversation about. I feel guilty.
"He needs help… Paul needs to be helped in helping his own first." Mamom responded with a sharp look at Papop. Her mood changed from soft to now assertive. She wiped her tears and inhaled before continuing. "It is causing him so much trouble… I don't want my son to get hurt!"
I cried so hard.
"Haaah!" I hastily inhaled a breath as if it was my first one since ever, gradually regaining touch of my office's premise.
Breathing heavily, I wiped the big drops of sweat rolling down my forehead using the palm of my hand. I paused for a bit… leaned on my table's desk using my elbow as a stand, with my palm still in touch with my forehead. For a while, I raised my look and took a deep breath, then scanned my eyes around the office before exhaling and closing my eyes once more.
"I'm gonna be fine Mamom."