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I walk into the waiting room of my office and flip on the lights. The room looks about how you’d expect from any therapy office: fairly empty, with a few chairs and a desk behind which a receptionist would sit, if I could afford to hire one. But that will come with time. I only just opened my clinic a month ago, and things are going remarkably well for a new practice. I already have several clients!
I take down the paper sign on the door and replace it with a wood burned one I just had made. It reads, “Across the Veil Therapy. Jasmine Fenton, MS. Open to the living, the dead, and those in between." I grin. My office is finally starting to feel like it belongs to me.
I go back to my office and sit in the plush chair behind my desk. I log into my computer, check my itinerary for the day, and organize my session notes from yesterday. Amity Park is a small town, so though I have two new clients today, I already know both of them. I will try my best not to let my prior experiences with them cloud my judgment as their therapist. We haven’t spoken in years anyway; I’m sure much has changed since we last spoke.
After some time, I walk out into the waiting room to greet my first client. A young man in his early twenties with bright red hair is seated in a chair by the door, looking antsy. He has a pamphlet in his hand that lists my specialties; he presumably pulled it off the receptionist desk.
“Hello Wesley,” I say.
“Dr. Fenton.” He inclines his head in a polite nod.
I smile warmly. “Just Jazz is fine. I’m not a doctor.”
“Then you can call me Wes,” he says.
“Alright, Wes, why don’t you come back to my office?” I beckon for him to follow me.
Given the choice of an armchair, a bean bag chair, and a loveseat couch, Wes opts to sit in the armchair. I get settled behind my desk. I pull out a notepad and a fountain pen, ready to take notes. I like to take my notes on paper then type them up at the end of the day. I find that I can better connect with my clients if I’m not staring at a computer screen.
I sit up straight and make eye contact with Wes. “So, before we begin, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be a little unprofessional. I generally like to act as though I’ve never met my clients before, to start from a blank slate. But you did spend several years harassing my brother. He has forgiven you, as have I, but I want to make sure that you’re not here with ulterior motives. I will not give you any information on myself or my family. This time is all about you. Is that clear?”
Wes looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “Crystal. I promise, I am here for my own mental health. I’m not trying to get to Danny through you.”
“Then why did you choose my clinic?” He could have gone to any therapist, but he chose me.
“Who else is going to believe me when I talk about ghosts? I don’t live in Amity anymore, but I knew I had to see someone here, or whoever I see would just think I’m crazy.”
I understand where he’s coming from. When we were in high school, he had a reputation in the school for being a conspiracy theorist. He was often right, but nobody believed him – and though I wasn’t one of the people making fun of him, that reputation helped keep Danny’s secret, so I did nothing to dispel the rumors.
“Rest assured, I know ghosts are real. And even if I didn’t, I try not to describe people with terms such as ‘crazy’. I always treat my clients with respect, and believe what they say unless I have reason not to.”
Wes looks back up at me. “Thank you.”
“No problem. So, tell me as if I were a stranger: what brings you here today?”
He sighs. “I feel like I’m not going anywhere with my life. Nobody respects me, my career is failing, and I’m starting to self-destruct. I’m hoping, if I can find the reason behind my problems, maybe I can actually solve them.”
I feel guilty for thinking that I’m not surprised to hear that he’s struggling. I don’t have any ill will towards him, despite our past. “That’s a good attitude to have. It takes a lot of self-awareness to realize you have self-destructive tendencies. I’m glad you decided to seek help.
“What are you doing nowadays? Do you have a job?”
“Well, sort of,” Wes says, with a noncommittal wave of his hand. “I freelance. Write articles for local papers, magazines, stuff like that. I want to do investigative journalism about the paranormal. But every time I tell someone that I want to write about ghosts, I get laughed out of the room. I’ve just been picking up odd jobs to pay the bills.”
“Yes, people outside of Amity are quite… close-minded about the supernatural.”
I ask more questions about his home life, taking notes in my notepad as he answers. Wes lives with his brother Kyle, who works at a Nasty Burger. He’s not seeing anybody. He had a fairly normal childhood – besides the ghosts, but that’s normal for Amity Park.
I look down at my notes. “You mentioned earlier that you were ‘starting to self-destruct’. What did you mean exactly?”
Wes runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been moody and irritable. Lashing out at people around me. I’m so frustrated, it feels like all I do is look for work or do research for my side project. I don’t have any time to relax and it’s taking its toll on me.”
“You might be surprised at how common that is. Studies have shown that somewhere between 70-75% of people have experienced burnout at their current job. Burnout is all-consuming, it feels like the only thing you do is work and can make you feel hopeless or like it’s not worth doing any of the things you enjoy. Do you ever feel hopeless, like things will never get better?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says. His eyes drift to a poster on the wall behind me, outlining signs of depression. “Are you thinking I’m depressed?”
I steeple my fingers, leaning on my desk. “Well, that certainly could be an explanation. Burnout is temporary, whereas a depressive disorder is more consistent. How long have you been feeling this way?”
Wes shrugs. “A few months now. I was fine before that, but it’s just gotten to be too much.”
I verify that he is not a danger to himself or anybody else, then I run through my typical depression screening. He hits a few of the criteria, such as difficulty focusing and feeling exhausted all the time, but not enough for diagnosis of major depressive disorder.
“It sounds like you’re experiencing burnout. The good news is that it’s highly treatable. How many hours a week do you work? And when was the last time you took a vacation?”
He pauses a moment to think. “It’s hard to quantify, since I work freelance, but maybe fifty? And I can’t recall the last time I took a break from work. I can’t afford to fall behind.”
This shouldn’t be too difficult. I’m sure he’ll be okay as long as he can take time to relax and learn that he doesn’t need to work himself to death in order to survive. We spend the rest of our session discussing ways to treat burnout. Working fewer hours, taking less stressful writing gigs, and going on vacations are all good ideas, if he can still afford to pay his bills.
After a while, I look at my watch. “It looks like we’re just about out of time. It was nice seeing you, Wes.”
“You too,” he says with a smile. “Thank you.”
We schedule our next session for two weeks from now. When he leaves my office, he looks more relaxed, less anxious, than he was when he came in. I smile to myself. That means I’m doing my job right.
I follow Wes out of the office and see that my next clients have already arrived. Wes gives them a wide berth and a suspicious glare on his way out. I can’t exactly blame him.
“Skulker, Ember, you can come on in.”
Ember lays back on the bean bag chair, one platform boot in the air, her guitar leaning against the wall beside her. Skulker sits on the couch, which sags a little under the weight of his armor, looking like he wants to be anywhere but here.
“How have things been the last week?” I ask them.
“Better,” Ember says. “I’ve been talking to Skulker more about what I need from him, instead of expecting him to read my mind. And he’s been paying more attention to me.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. And how are you doing, Skulker?”
Skulker looks around, not meeting my eye. Not that you can really make eye contact with a suit of armor. “I’m fine. Ember has been needy and I’ve been wanting to spend my time on the hunt. But I know this is important to our relationship so I’m… trying.”
Ember’s mouth drops open. “What do you mean, I’ve been needy?!”
Skulker looks at me, but I stay silent and gesture for him to continue. “Uh, I just meant that… you’ve been wanting a lot of my time recently.”
Ember sits up in the bean bag chair and turns towards Skulker. “All you think about is hunting!” she shouts. “You’re finally paying attention to me and it sounds like you don’t want to be!”
I cut in. “Shouting isn’t a productive way to work through this. This segues well into something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Have you heard of DBT?”
Ember and Skulker both shake their heads. “It stands for Dialectical Behavior Therapy. It’s a form of therapy that focuses on managing extreme emotions and social relationships. I think the conflict resolution skills could be useful here.
“There is an acronym called DEAR MAN. It’s a seven-step process to resolving a conflict or making a request of somebody.” I pull some worksheets out from a folder on my desk and hand one to each of them. “First you Describe the situation factually. Then you Express your emotions about the situation, using ‘I’ statements. Assert your needs, firmly and clearly. Reinforce why they should accommodate your needs, how it benefits them. Stay Mindful , making sure that you stay on topic and don’t get distracted. Appear confident, which I don’t think will be an issue for you two. And lastly, Negotiate so you can come to an agreement.”
I give them a few minutes to look over the worksheet. “Ember, would you like to try first?”
Ember nods, closes her eyes, and takes a breath she probably doesn’t need. It seems to calm her anyway. Maybe it’s something about her memory of being human. She looks at Skulker and says, “You spend more time hunting than you spend with me. I feel like you care more about your hunting than you do about our relationship. I need to spend more time together in order to feel close to you. This benefits you because if I’m happier, I’ll be more willing to do things you like with you, like joining you for your hunts.”
“Good job, Ember,” I say. “Skulker?”
Skulker spends a minute looking over the sheet again. This doesn’t come easily to him, so I appreciate the effort he’s putting in. “I do spend a lot of time hunting,” he finally says. “I feel like I deserve to spend the time I want to on the hunt. I need time to put towards that, in order to fulfill my Obsession. This benefits you because… uhm… when I am satisfied with a hunt I am more pleasant to be around?”
“Great, Skulker. I know talking about your Obsession is difficult. Thank you for being vulnerable with us.” I wave towards Ember, motioning her to speak next.
Ember says, “I understand that. I’ve got an Obsession of my own. But it doesn’t need to take up all your time. We need time together if we’re going to be a couple, right?”
“I guess,” Skulker says. “You could come hunting with me. Together, we would make any prey tremble.”
“What about my interests?” Ember asks. “Would you come to my concerts?”
Skulker hesitates. I sit and silently watch. “To keep you, yes.”
Tears well up in Ember’s eyes. “Okay,” she says, “I can accept that.”
“This has been productive,” I say. “Again, great job, both of you. Why don’t you two plan a date, something you can do together that you both enjoy?”
Skulker says, “Well, we both enjoy terrorizing humans. We can go to a record store, listen to some music, and steal whatever records she likes.”
Ember grins. “I’m down! Let’s go right when we’re done here!”
I balk. “We are just about out of time, anyway. But, uhm, I can’t really condone breaking the law, even if you are ghosts.” They completely ignore my last statement and continue planning their date.
“There’s that new record store up on Main Street, I haven’t been there yet,” Ember says as she gets up and heads towards the door. She turns around and says, “Thanks, doctor! I think this will be good for us. We’ll see you next week!”
“I’m not a doctor…” I trail off as they leave the room together.
I shake my head and chuckle as I organize my notes.
My computer whirrs awake when I shake the mouse. I check my schedule. My next patient after my lunch break is Dashiel Baxter.
This is going to be a hard one. I haven’t seen Dash in at least five years, but I tutored him back in high school. I knew him pretty well, and I know he wasn’t good to Danny, although I’m not sure of the extent. But he’s here as my client, and I can be professional. A lot of time has passed. A lot can change in five years.
I head to the sandwich shop next door, pick up a sandwich, and bring it back to my office. I spend some time going over Dash’s intake paperwork while I eat.
Soon enough it’s time for his appointment. I haven’t heard the door open, but I walk out to the waiting room to see if he snuck in when I wasn’t paying attention.
“Dash?!” There he is by the doorway, looking five years older than the last time I saw him, a look of dread on his face. He has grown a bit taller, and bulked out a little more. His blond hair is still cut short, and his skin is pale, verging on green.
He floats towards me. “Hi, Jazz…”
“What happ–” I stop mid-word. It is impolite to ask a ghost how he died. “Why don’t you come on in?”
He was young, only in his early twenties. I knew him. I tutored him in high school. To think that he died, long enough ago that he has become a corporeal ghost, and I didn’t hear about it… I never left Amity. How did I not hear about this?
He wasn’t the brightest kid I tutored, but he had a lot of potential. I’m sure he got a football scholarship to some college, and probably could have graduated by now. There’s so much he hasn’t gotten to do… Deep breaths, Jazz. Stay professional.
Dash floats in behind me. I sit at my desk. “You can sit anywhere you’d like,” I say.
“I’d rather stand for now, thanks,” he replies. “Or, um, float, I guess.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell all my clients that I’ve met before: I try to forget everything I knew about my clients before our first session, to start with a blank slate. We have a lot of history, but I’m not going to let it get in the way of your therapy.”
Dash looks at me. “I bet you’re dying to know, though.” He snorts when he realizes what he said.
“I wasn’t going to ask. I have a lot of experience with ghosts, and I know what topics to steer clear of at first.”
He smirks. “That’s not a no.” His face falls into a more serious expression. “It’s okay. I want to talk about it. That’s why I’m here, right?”
I give him a friendly nod. “Go on ahead, then. I’m listening.”
He lands on the ground and starts to pace back and forth in front of my desk. “You know how I was in high school. I’ve never been a great student, but I was great at sports and I knew it. One thing I loved about it is that it took up a lot of my time. Time I didn’t have to be at home with my parents.”
Oh. I see.
“They wanted me to be perfect. Good grades, hot girlfriend, football star. When I got a scholarship to go to college, they were ecstatic. Didn’t stop Dad from beating on me, though. Whether it was punishment for doing something wrong or a threat to not fuck up in the future, he always had to punctuate his arguments with a punch. Nobody ever questioned the bruises. I was a football player, obviously I got hurt during the games.” He rolls his eyes. “Mom didn’t care either. She said he wouldn’t hit me if I behaved better. That was a fuckin’ lie.
“Anyway. I went to college, but my parents wanted to keep me close. They wouldn’t let me dorm, said I could move out when I graduate. I hated it. I hated living under their roof.
“A couple months ago, I had a real shitty day at school – people being assholes, nothing important. I was avoiding my parents’ texts because they were angry about something stupid I don’t even remember – I didn’t do the dishes, or my room was a mess, something petty.
“I was driving home that day and all I could think about was how much I didn’t want to go back there. I remember clutching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. Then I got a phone call from my dad. I was pissed. The last thing I remember is jerking the steering wheel to the side and careening towards a tree. You can guess what happened next.”
He pauses long enough that I realize he’s waiting for me to speak. “I’m sorry, Dash. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
He looks down at his hands, still pacing. “No. I didn’t. I recognize that now. I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know, being dead and all.”
I gently ask him, “Was it intentional? Was it suicide?”
Dash is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. It was.”
“Had you thought about suicide in the past, or was this new?”
“It’s been on my mind my whole life. My parents were awful to me. The only way I coped with it in high school was beating on people weaker than me. I stopped that when it was clear it was going to get me arrested, but I had to turn my aggression somewhere. I guess I turned it inward.”
I meet his eye, and he stops pacing. “That’s awful. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He nods his thanks. “Normally, if a client told me they were having suicidal thoughts, I would have to report that. Suicide prevention is incredibly important in therapy. But… unfortunately, it’s a little late for that. What we can do now is work on coping with the emotions that led you there.
“You’re a ghost now, which means that your emotions are going to be stronger than they were in life. It might be harder to fight your impulses. You might be drawn to self harm; remember, as a ghost, you’re not invincible. We want to prevent that any way we can.
“So let’s start by going over this depression screening…”
As the session goes on, I get more and more comfortable talking to Dash. He may be a ghost now, but he’s still the stubborn kid I knew. (I shouldn’t call him a kid, he’s only a couple years younger than me. But he’s not getting any older…) I feel bad for everything that’s happened to him, but I know I can’t change the past. All I can do is help make his afterlife better.
He really has grown a lot since high school. He’s more mature and self-aware. I wonder how much of that growth was from just the last couple months since he died. I can’t imagine what it’s like to wake up dead. I’ve been to the Ghost Zone. It’s not exactly a comforting place.
“Your homework this week is to read over this list of cognitive distortions. Next week we’ll discuss them together, and how to manage the way you think about yourself.”
“Homework, really?” He shakes his head. He pauses for a moment. “Am…Am I gonna be okay?” His brows are furrowed. He looks scared to even ask.
“We’ll do our best to make sure you are.” I smile warmly at him, and he gives a shaky smile in return.
“I appreciate that. I’ll see you next week, Dr. Fenton.”
“I’m not a–” I sigh. “See you next week, Dash.”
Dash floats through the door and leaves me alone in my office. He was my last appointment for the day, so I have plenty of time to type up my notes before I head home.
I clear my head, put on some light music, and get to work typing. Wes is dealing with normal human issues, he’ll be the easiest to handle. Burnout is very common, and there’s a ton of resources to help get through it.
Skulker and Ember are going to take some work. It’s clear from the way they talk that Ember was the one who suggested couples’ counseling. I wouldn’t say it looks like she bullied him into going, but he didn’t seem eager either. I think DBT is going to be helpful for them.
And Dash… He will be complicated, as well. He has a lot of anger towards his parents. He clearly has trauma. I wonder if EMDR works on ghosts? I suspect he has C-PTSD, and EMDR is incredibly helpful for humans with trauma. It could be worth a shot. I’ll be with him every step of the way, helping where I can.
It’s been a productive day. My job is hard, but it’s fulfilling. I know I can make a real difference this way. I pack up my things and head out the door, flicking off the light on my way out.