Tell me about yourself

I don't think you're going to like the answer.
[The Enchantress via wikimedia]

Sometimes innocent questions can come with a lot of built-in assumptions. That's why it's so important to establish trust and safety first. If a patient has a hard time answering what you think should be an easy question, there's probably a good reason.

"Tell me about yourself," they say as we begin. 

"Tell me about yourself," they say, and lean forward in their chairs, smiling. 

"Tell me about yourself," they say, as if we could have anything in common.

"Tell me about yourself," they say, not hearing the cracking of the earth, not seeing the way the light has been suddenly swallowed by the deep canyon that appears between us. 

"I don't know. What do you want to know?" I say, stalling for time, feeling my heart pound, feeling distant and alone, not knowing when they'll be ready to hear that my alcoholic father beat me and kicked me out of the house in high school. Not wanting to remember the first time I traded heroin for sex. Wishing I didn't have be on guard every second of every day and especially here when I just came in to fix my headache and I have no idea where my doctor is or who they are or what they're doing here and how long I have before they show pity or disgust, both of which will destroy me. 

"Oh, tell me anything." 

Like, how I sleep on the streets at night? How much I drink? How I almost went to prison for stealing a car one night? How every cell in my body felt like it was vomiting for three months straight when I tried to come clean two years ago? How I still miss my 9th grade girlfriend who was sweet and clean? How I feel I'm living on borrowed time since I turned 30 and I dream of making something good in the world that people will like, even if it's just cookies in a bakery? 

"I don't know. I'm pretty boring I guess."