How It Ends Catherine Lo (the first e reader TXT) 📖

could kiss Dr. Morgan. I have a bottle of Ativan in my bag, a refill of my antidepressants, and a mother who’s been put in her place.

To be honest, I’ve never really had much faith in Dr. Morgan’s ability to relate to a girl my age. He has messy black hair shot through with gray, a pair of half-glasses that rest on the tip of his nose, and a white jacket that’s usually buttoned wrong. After today, though, I’m quite sure he’s a genius.

He looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, “You’ve looked better, Jess. What seems to be the trouble today?”

My mom jumped in. “Jess has been having panic attacks, and I caught her sneaking Ativan on Saturday night.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and prepared for a lecture, but Dr. Morgan surprised me by ignoring my mom entirely. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here today, Jess?”

“Ummm. Well, my mom brought me in because of the other night.”

“And what happened?”

I took a deep breath and angled my body away from my mother. “I had a panic attack in English class the other day, and I had to take an Ativan to stop it. My mom only gives me one pill at a time, so I snuck in to get more pills in case I had another attack at school.”

“How often have you been having anxiety attacks?”

“I haven’t. At least, not full-blown ones. This was my first real attack since last school year.”

“That’s excellent news. It sounds like the medication we prescribed is helping you manage your anxiety well—”

“Dr. Morgan,” my mother interrupted, “I’m concerned about the—”

Dr. Morgan put up a finger to silence my mom, never looking away from me. “I’ll speak to your concerns shortly, Mrs. Avery. For right now, I’d like to get more information directly from Jessica.”

I bit back a smile and continued. “It was a bad one, the attack in English class. It really scared me.” It felt good to admit that.

Dr. Morgan tapped his pen against his chin. “Sometimes when people experience a panic attack in a setting like school or work, it’s exacerbated by worries about other people seeing. It could be that the severity would have been quite different if it had happened at home.”

I thought back to how easily I’d managed the panic in my parents’ bathroom. “I think that’s a big part of it,” I admitted. “I don’t want people at school finding out about my anxiety.”

“Have you talked to any of your friends about it?”

“No. I don’t want anyone to know.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand how you feel, but you might want to think about confiding in a trusted friend. It might help you manage your anxiety if you know there’s someone you can turn to at school. Knowing you have a safety net can actually decrease your anxiety levels.”

“I’ll think about it—” I said.

My mom jumped in. “What about Annie? I know she’d support you.”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“But I really think—”

“This is a decision Jessie needs to feel comfortable with,” Dr. Morgan said. “It’s very important that she has control over this information. It’s not a choice that should be taken away from her.”

I could have kissed him.

“Now, let’s talk about the Ativan.”

I blushed and looked down at the floor.

“I’m not upset with you that you’re using the Ativan, Jessica. I prescribed it to you for a reason. I’m more upset that you don’t have access to it, to be honest,” he said, giving my mother a stern look.

“But you said she shouldn’t have free access to it.”

“No, Mrs. Avery. I said it should be monitored. I don’t want Jessica becoming reliant on Ativan as an escape from anxiety attacks, but it shouldn’t be withheld from her. That just increases her anxiety and causes feelings of guilt and insecurity.”

My mother bristled. “I wasn’t withholding it. Jessie had a pill on her at all times. She never told me she needed more, so I assumed she wasn’t taking any.”

Dr. Morgan turned to me. “Why didn’t you just ask for the medication?”

I sighed, debating. “I didn’t want this to become a big thing.”

He nodded at me to continue.

“My mom gets all worked up about my anxiety, and it makes things worse for me. She freaks out about every mood I have. Whenever I’m feeling tired or upset, she assumes I’m depressed or that I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“I do not always assume the worst, Jessica. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

Dr. Morgan held up a hand. “Some of these concerns would be best addressed with your therapist, Dr. Richards, and I would recommend you two do some sessions around this. But let’s stay focused on the issue of medication. I propose we give Jessie some freedom to manage her anxiety. That includes refraining from always checking in about it or attributing behaviors or reactions to anxiety. It also includes allowing her to have free access to her Ativan as a means of getting relief from anxiety attacks.”

My mom nodded hesitantly.

“Now, Jessie. With these freedoms comes responsibility. You’ll need to monitor yourself for escalating symptoms of anxiety or depression and take the initiative to seek out help when you need it. Do you think you’re mature enough to handle that responsibility?”

“Yes,” I said eagerly.

“I’m only giving you twenty pills for now, with a stern lecture. Get ready.”

I smiled at him, feeling the stirrings of excitement in my chest.

“I’m prescribing Ativan as an escape route from an anxiety attack, not as a treatment for your anxiety. Think of it like taking Tylenol to relieve back pain. The Tylenol masks the pain, but doesn’t fix whatever is causing it. One of the risks of using Ativan in this way is that sometimes people come to rely on the easy fix instead of using strategies for managing anxiety. I don’t want to see you fall into that trap.”

“I promise I’ll only use it for emergencies.” It took everything I had not to bounce up