He's Come Undone by Theresa Weir Page B

post-traumatic growth syndrome. When someone goes through something as traumatic as what you went through they often stop growing emotionally.”
    “So you’re saying I’ll always be nineteen.” That was bullshit. Total bullshit.
    “No, not always.” She riffled through her notes, then looked back up at me. “You’ve been out of the mental institute over a year, and you’re doing fantastic. I just don’t want anything to happen that could set you back, that’s all.”
    “I like this girl.”
    “Like you liked all of the others.”
    “Others? What others?”
    “This isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned girls.”
    “This is different. Those girls… they came on to me. I met them at parties. They were just one-night stands. They were just looking for a good time. This is different. Totally different.”
    “Because she doesn’t like you? Because she didn’t come on to you? I think that’s what it is, Julian. This is what I mean by post-traumatic growth syndrome. Yes, emotionally you might be nineteen. Or even younger. You are reacting to this girl with the emotions of a teenager rather than a twenty-three-year old. I think you’re reacting to all girls with the emotions of a teenager.”
    I wanted to get up and walk out like I’d done the other day with Ellie. I was starting to see a pattern in my behavior.
    “These girls. How many have there been?”
    “I don’t know. Six? Seven?”
    “You don’t know how many girls you’ve been with since you moved here?”
    “No, I haven’t kept track.”
    “Have you used protection?”
    I could feel my face getting warm. “Yes.” Was that any of her business?
    And then she got around to what was really bugging her. “Are the girls just objects to you? Interchangeable? Disposable?”
    “No. Of course not.”
    “Are you sure?”
    God, were they? Was she right?
    All along I’d justified my behavior because they came on to me, they asked me out, took me home, made the first move. All of them. So what if I never called them back? That was part of the college game, right? And they got what they wanted out of me. That’s what I figured. Beyond the sex, I just hadn’t been interested.
    “They wanted it.” I tried to explain. “They all wanted it.”
    She watched me in that calculating way of hers. With an expression that said she thought I was full of shit and she was just waiting for me to come to my senses and admit I’d used them. God, maybe I had. I didn’t like where this was going.
    The whole thing had been so heady. I’d started college and suddenly there was this buffet of beautiful girls who were attracted to me. And they were hot, and they were horny. Had I done anything wrong?
    She must have seen she was upsetting and confusing me, because she changed the topic, moving to something safe. “What about running? How’s that going?”
    “I have a marathon coming up,” I said, relieved to talk about something else. “Training for that. It’s not school-related. Just something I want to do.”
    “And classes?”
    “I like most of them.” But she probably wasn’t interested in how much I liked or disliked them. “I wish I could have gotten into the Kurt Cobain class since they only offer it every few years, but it was full.”
    “And the medication? Making you tired or confused? Any side effects I should know about? Especially since this particular drug has been on the market less than a year and I’d like to be kept informed of anything unusual.”
    “No side effects. Well, maybe a little forgetfulness sometimes. Like I’ll start to do something and completely forget what it was, but other than that—” I shook my head. “No problem.”
    “Short-term memory can be an issue with most anti-depressants.” She made some notes, her pen scratching across the surface of her notebook. “What about sleep? Are you sleeping?”
    “Yeah, fine,” I lied.
    “Anything else you want to share?”
    “No.”
    “You