Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) by Lindsay Paige

your mind. Bits and pieces vanishing until there's nothing left but an empty skull. I survived another night of yoga and video games with Olivia. I survived work, and I've just sat down across from a psychiatrist. Olivia somehow knew today was going to be one of those days where it's hard to even sit up in bed.
    She barged into my room and when I made no effort to get up, she started to tug me out of bed. There's some strength in her, that's for sure. It pissed me off, but here I am anyway. Deep down, I know this is where I need to be, where I want to be, but today is not the fucking day to do it.
    The psychiatrist, Dr. Stewart, starts asking questions I'm in no mood to answer. What's been going on? How have I been feeling? When did it start? How long has it been this bad? Why do I think it's this bad? What's my mental health history? I give him the shortest answers possible, just enough information to get to the next step.
    “Do you have a support system, Corey?”
    “Sure. I have my siblings and a girl across the hall from me, I guess.”
    “Tell me about your siblings. What do they know of your struggles?”
    What the fuck does this have to do with anything?! “Two younger brothers and a younger sister. They don't know much. No one does, and I'd like to keep it that way. The girl, Olivia, she knows, but that's because she's got some weird see-your-soul shit going on. Can you help me or not?”
    “Irritability is obviously a symptom,” he comments under his breath, almost smiling while he types into his little laptop.
    Son of a bitch, he's about to piss me off. “I only came here because I'm sick of this. There's not a lot I can do or fix or change, but I can do something about this.” My voice conveys my desperation and then my uncertainty. “Right? I can be helped, can't I?” It's not until the words faintly leave my mouth that I realize I was hopeful thanks to Olivia and scared shitless that she may be wrong.
    Dr. Stewart studies me in the same analyzing way that Olivia does. “Yes, you can,” he finally answers. “But in no way is it going to be easy or happen overnight. Depression is different for everyone. Some people go years without hitting their lows, and for others, they battle it every few months, or daily. You need to find someone who understands and you need to talk to them because you're going to need them. You're going to have to find strength when you don't feel like it, and you're going to have to fight like hell for the good days, but you can do it.
    “Sounds like you've been doing a decent job so far to be dealing with it as long as you have. I definitely want you to start seeing a therapist.” I part my mouth to object, but he interrupts me. “You have issues, Corey. Big ones, and don't try to deny them. You're the one who can't even tell your doctor that a football injury triggered your setback.”
    My eyes widen.
    “I attended Salem University once upon a time, even played football myself, and I like to watch it now that I don't. I recognized you the moment you walked in and I read the name on the file. Corey, it's not uncommon for athletes to feel the exact same way you do right now after having their dream taken from them without any warning. Because you already had depression issues before certainly didn't help when it happened either.
    “My point is you aren't alone in this, but you have to talk to someone. Anyone. If you want to talk to a stranger, drive around the city and find a waitress to spill your sorrows to. Whatever you need to do to open up and get this stuff out is what I want you to do.” He pauses, keeps his gaze locked on mine, and adds, “If you want to get back in control of your life, that's part of what you have to do. You have to have a support system. You have to learn how to talk about these things.”
    Nothing comes to mind for me to say, so I nod.
    “Are you still in school?”
    “Not at the moment. I went to grad school because there wasn't any other