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I would hate to admit that my dad is right, but looks like he is. He always says that there is no such thing as mental illness, unless you have a hole in your head (from playing Quidditch, I’m sure) and your brain is slowly dripping out of your skull. Dad doesn’t believe in DSM-5, nor does he believe in therapy. Mum says it’s because he has an emotional range of a teaspoon.
Mum, on the contrary, believes in psyche. Not in psychics, though. She thinks the word ‘psychic’ comes from ‘psycho’. So when I tried to approach her about making an appointment, it was a hard no.
But something about this Kate lady just felt right for my apathy and- wait, I don’t want to label it as ‘depression’, because the term is heavily overused in our dorm. And I’d hate to sound like Quinn Lee who ‘has a depression’ every Wednesday evening, because the school week is sooo long, and Transfiguration essays are sooo boring. So I was going to see a psychic about it, it-that-must-not-be-named, haha, secretly from my parents and using my hard earned birthday money. Lucky me!
***
Kate the psychic looked ordinary. No witchy vibes, as if she was a muggle-born or a squibb. Too pretty to strike a newcomer as a wise woman. A blue pantsuit, dyed blond hair that she wore in a bun, no Aunt Luna’s boho skirts, no pointy hat nonsense or heavy jewelry. I hardly ever saw a classic cloak on her coat rack, probably because she worked with both wizards (mainly witches) and muggles.
“Are you ready to pour some magic into your past and heal your future?” she asked me.
***
My soul doesn’t need healing, she said, and DSM-5 doesn’t need existing.
I asked Kate about anxiety and depression, mentioned Karpman drama triangle straight away. Frankly speaking, I was trying to impress her a little bit, just to show that I’ve done my homework (not that I had any) and to be able to speak as equals.
Doesn’t happen much with my parents, the equality thing. I can easily relate to the house elves. Mum is too a bigshot, thinking that, because she is Minister of Magic, she figured out the whole wide world, when she really doesn’t know her own kids. Hugo is smoking pot - how do you like this, Mum? Dad is - well, an ageist, an ‘I’m older than you’ kind of guy. Drives me nuts! With him, you can never win, you’re always too young, ‘little’ even. Come on, Dad, I’m fifteen, give me some credit already!
So I tried to impress her, Kate the psychic, and she wasn’t impressed, just like my Mum and Dad. But, unlike my parents, she asked me what I wanted in my life.
“Now, that’s a tricky one”, I said and laughed uncomfortably. First question, and I’m already failing. Yikes!
“You can’t be wrong about what you want”, Kate said.
Get it together, Rose. Yet, I could only think about graduating top of the class and becoming a war hero.
“Unless the wish is someone else’s, not yours”, she added, as if reading my mind. I averted my eyes, just in case. Constant vigilance.
She had to rephrase. “What do you hate about your life?”
“Now we are talking!”