Secret Shame

The first time I saw her, she was pale diminutive almost bordering frail.  She was definitely agitated and fingers constantly twining untwining,  sometimes clawing. Her mother  went on, about how she had withdrawn, run away from home and that she was mentally disturbed.

Disturbed she was, but not in the sense her mother put it.

“Mrs. Mesquita could you stay out for a while, I need to check your daughter.” With the mother out-of-the-way the daughter was more relaxed.

She was sheathing and definitely resisted conversation, I did not want to push it either.

“Just give me a minute” I said, taking a crystal  out and energized it, then I cleansed the area and lit a fragrance, I looked at her,

“Whats your name”

“Georgette, ”

“okay, what do you call yourself”

“what do you mean,”

“My name is Gurvinder, I always think of myself as Vinnie, “

“Oh! Does it matter,”

“that depends on you”

“what do you mean”

“Your mom got you here because she thinks there is a problem. Now I cannot do a thing about what she thinks, but if you think I can help you then you are welcome.”

“Is the decision mine,”

“of course, and oh! Yes, your mom will not know of our conversations.”



“and if you want my help then I need to talk and work with you, it begins with what do you call yourself.”


“okay and”

“you know what bothers me, she does not give me a choice, dress up, doll up and parade to the church”

I let her go on, Jetta still did not look at me, she was gazing at the floor, her fingers untwined and creeped up to her scalp and she began picking it. the carefull arranged hair showed patches of picked scalp there were tiny tell tale scabs on the wrists and elbows.

In my profession we know secrets stumble out, and secrets are of two types one that you cannot tell and the other that dare not share. It is strange how people pour their soul to their  therapist and seem quite shocked at the words they utter.

“yeeks! The words sound so rusty, and ugly and meaningless so feeble  “ Jetta said after she poured out her heart.

“wouldn’t it be it was kept in a cramped dark corner all this while.”

It was Jetta’s second sitting, and she was rocking,  she definitely had Dermatillomania of course though cognitive therapy works best Jetta seems to prefer the hypno-sessions.

“She was protesting you know”


“mom,” for a few moments her eyes were blank and Jetta was zooming in into another zone,”he didn’t bother he just got on her and pounded her.”

“take a deep Breath, how old are you”

“4yrs”replied the 24yr.old.

“Where are you”

“Sleeping between my parents, but dad has moved on over mama.”

This happened routinely till Jetta, and she had progressively become quite, clawing herself, till she bled, and once the scar died she would peel the dry scar. Her mother had consulted a priest he doused her with holy water saying she was possessed.

“but how can she sleep alone” was her mother’s wail,

“Don’t worry I’ll sleep with her,” her eighteen year old sister and 15yr; old brother offered. That was when Jetta’s next set of nightmares began. Her brother would unzip and ask her to touch him, when she refused, her sister would say, ”hey see, how it feels, like a rubber” and her sister would tell her, “roll it like a handle ” after a while her brother would harden, and then her sister would say, ”what did you do, now he will be in pain” and both of them would laugh after which they would go into the bathroom  Jetta would wait for them to come out all scared.

“don’t worry baby we won’t tell mama what you did’ they would assure her.

“can you imagine when i walk down the corridor, Di and Daniel would give me that cunning smile. If i got friendly to anyone they would say, don’t let them know what you do then you won’t have friends.” By and by Jetta had crawled into the shell, dreading the nights and disturbed during the day. she discovered that she could walk the dogs and get to the bedroom later, that put a spanner in what her siblings did to her but all this with the cost she was clawing . sometimes even pulling her hair.

Five sessions later, she was better, but had to go for cognitive therapy, but it was like debuting into a social world,

“I feel bare without my secret, its like  everyone will see me as I really am she worried.”

Now was the time to work on the real secret, the secret she had kept even from herself.

.  ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’



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