Frances: I have to say these symptoms are all very vague and the last note misleading and detrimental. To attribute the symptoms of depression solely to “hard times” may have you feeling like you should wait it out instead of seeking professional help. What if you’re going through a series of “hard times”？ You’ll be waiting for the storm to pass until you’re dead. Depression varies from person to person. For example, I had extreme mood swings, which isn’t mentioned above and is rarely talked about regarding depression. I was on cloud nine one day and being tormented in hell the next, and things did not change until I got help. So you need to ask yourself （and answer truthfully）： do you think you’re depressed? The answer is obviously yes, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this page. Do yourself a favor and seek help.
Chapter Thirty-three
On Wednesday, I join Penny in her office. She looks at me and smiles. She has on the same blue eye shadow she wore during my interview. Her blond hair is even shorter now and it sticks up in corners she maybe can’t see.
“Maddie,” she says. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but we have a counselor who comes into the building twice a month. I’d like you to see her, just to keep on top of things.”
I frown. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“Not at all,” she says. “You’re flying through your admin; I’ve just noticed you’ve been arriving early and staying late since your return. Allan in Facilities said he saw you leave at 9:30 Monday night. You’re very quiet in the office and sometimes, well, morose may be a little too far, but you’re certainly not yourself—understandably. You did seem perkier this morning, but I imagine your feelings during a time like this alternate in waves.”
I’m burning with embarrassment at the idea of being the Girl Who Clearly Can’t Cope. I briefly put myself in Penny’s shoes. She must hate having this conversation as much as I hate hearing it. She shouldn’t have to deal with secondhand grief. I already know Kris and Eliza have lost someone and they didn’t mention needing a counselor brought in.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I can get my work done, same as every—” I cut myself off thinking of Katherine, crying in the toilets, working when her mental health was at risk, pretending everything was okay. I asked Claire if it mattered people thought her weak, so long as she got help. I’d no idea I’d struggle to take my own advice.
Depression can do that to a person.
I shake my head and say nothing.
“We want to help you, Maddie,” Penny says. “Career longevity is our goal with you here at OTP—hence our counselor. We thought it best to pair you with a Black woman specializing in bereavement. So, every other Friday at three in the HR room. You don’t need to tell anyone what you’re doing and you’re of course excused from whatever meetings may fall into that hour slot. In fact, the counselor is here today and free for the next half hour if you’d like to pop down and introduce yourself before lunch. How does that sound?” Penny nods and smiles until I mirror.
* * *
I’ve never been to the HR room, so it takes me a couple of wrong turns to find it. I can’t help but feel like I’m in trouble, that I am doing something wrong. You go to therapy if you have serious problems, if you’re a threat to yourself. People lose relatives every day but they’re not all in therapy, so why me?
I can’t tell Mum about this. Unless God works for the HR department, she’ll find this unacceptable.
I knock on the door and enter a small room with only a sofa, chair （where a Black woman sits） and wooden table in between. The floor is gray carpet and the walls are cream, with only one small window and a clock. It’s warmer in here than it is upstairs and I wonder if there’s an intentional reason for that.
“Hello, Madeleine? Penny mentioned you might pop in. Please take a seat,” the woman says. Her hair stands out in an Afro and her lips are well-defined with a sharp Cupid’s bow. I think, it must be easy to apply lipstick.
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m only here to introduce myself,” I tell her. “But I’ll see you on Friday.”
“You’re here now and I’m available, so why don’t you take a seat?” She gestures to the chair opposite; her tone is gentle but no-nonsense.
I put my bag down and do as she says.
“Madeleine or Maddie?” she asks.
“Maddie is fine, thanks.”
“Good. You can call me Angelina.” She crosses one leg over the other. She’s wearing a navy pantsuit with a white blouse underneath and high heels on her feet. I want to ask if she has suits in brighter colors. A yellow, maybe. “How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you. You know, as I can be.”
Angelina nods and waits, her mouth closed when she smiles. I outwait her. “And returning to work? This is day three?”
I nod. “Fine, too.”
She waits, and I start pinching my palms.
“I just wish…”
“Yes?”
“I think you’ll judge me.”
“It’s not my job to judge.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“That’s fine to think so,” Angelina says, although I notice she doesn’t deny it. “What were you going to say? You just wish…”
“I wish people would stop asking how I am.”
“That’s natural.”
“Yes, but I’d also be offended if they didn’t. Like, how dare you not care enough to ask? Even if you think I’d rather be left alone, it’s social convention that you ask.”
“Go on.”
“I wish everyone would ask me how I am at once,” I say, “so I can give them all one answer simultaneously because now I’m just repeating myself, which feels like a disservice to my dad, and then sometimes, the person asking just waits, stares, and I think, do they want me to break down and cry, are they judging me and wondering why I’m not? Or are they giving me space to talk and that’s not actually what I want right now, but maybe they know better and it’s what I need? I don’t know. I got really angry because Melanie wasn’t in on Monday, which meant I’d have to start all over again the next day and the next day with someone new and so on. It’s just tiring. I’m tired.”
“You are entitled to feel tired.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You have nothing else to say to all of that?”
She uncrosses her legs. “Were you hoping for a solution today, Maddie? I’m afraid there isn’t one. I’m just here for you to talk to.”
“But then couldn’t I speak to anyone? Why are you different?”
“Perhaps there’s some advice or reassurance I can provide you that others maybe haven’t.”
“Right.”
“You sound skeptical? Has well-meaning advice or words of reassurance proved fruitless so far?”
“You could say that,” I answer. “On my first day back, my mum said, ‘God is with you, Maame. Have a good day and call me if work is too much.’ It was too much, but I didn’t call her; I just skipped lunch and walked around Farringdon.”