Guided Meditation? -Sean-

Sean’s day had been relatively uneventful. “Relatively” was a key word there, given what life at Hammel entailed; his day would likely be considered eventful by persons not associated with a school and training ground for meta-humans, by persons not accustomed to psychic feedback and the ins and outs of teenage angst, multiplied by spectacular abilities. But one session with an anxious elemental didn’t rate so much as a blink of his eyes at this stage in life. Particularly when on considered that tomorrow he had to have, yet another, session with Jesse. He was unwilling to give up on the young man, partially for Jesse’s sake, partially for his own, partially for the potential sake of society. No, compared to that, today had been easy.

Besides, most of his day had been filled with coffee and paperwork.

In fact, at the present moment, Sean was hunched over his desk, carefully reviewing notes and updating files, every so often pausing to sip his lukewarm coffee and considering that he should take a break, just a quick one, just long enough to refresh his cup.

But he didn’t have the opportunity, because there was a knock at his door. And a brief mental scan told him it was Ann Hudgins, whom he wouldn’t have expected. The young woman had avoided this wing of the school as though it were haunted, contaminated, or both. Whatever it was, it had to be important.

Shutting the file he’d been working on, he called out, “Come in, Ann.”

Sean knew Ann from her files and knew that she was an empath from that and from her surface thoughts. He felt camaraderie with empaths, because of the similarities between their powers; people were complicated, and their emotions were strong, in many ways no easier to handle than their thoughts were. He knew what it was to be a telepath, coming of age adrift in the sea of teenage angst; “identity crisis” took on an entirely different meaning in that context. And so he listened sympathetically as she rattled off everything that was bothering her in a quick summary. And then she stopped, seemingly realizing that she might have jumped the gun a bit for a first session.

Sean didn’t lecture her on decorum, because there wasn’t any for voluntary sessions, so long as nobody did anything illegal and everyone kept his clothes on. He’d had sessions where he’d played cards with the student, sessions where he’d role played parents or crushes for anxious teenagers with a secret to reveal, sessions where he’d never uttered a word while a student talked for an hour, sessions where a student, too embarrassed to speak his problems aloud, had wished him to probe his mind, sessions outside tossing a football when the weather was nice or sitting under a tree...there was no rule book for voluntary sessions. Only involuntary sessions where he had an end goal of diagnosis and treatment or discipline, or when he was speaking to guardians, because image and formality always played a role there.

Sean gave her a gentle smile, taking on a relaxed pose in his chair. “Even though I’m in a suit, I’m not very formal. This is about you being comfortable, and if you don’t care about introductions, neither do I; you already know who I am, and I know who you are.” There was a brief pause, before he offered, “Would you like a bottle of water? I also have iced tea.”

Sean pushed his chair back, just enough to give him room to maneuver, and he rose from his desk, at his full height he towered over her, as he tended to tower over everyone. He walked around his desk to the miniature refrigerator he kept and pulled out two bottles of water. He set one before her with a smile, before resuming his seat. “There you are.” He then settled back in his chair, twisting off the cap and having a sip. Her thoughts were running in circles, loudly, although he was doing all he could to afford her due privacy. However, to set her at ease, he spoke gently, “I’m not going to bite, you know.”

In response to her offer to start at the beginning, Sean gave a nod; that was fine with him. Certainly, he was willing to listen to whatever she needed to say, in whatever order she could do so; however, it was easier to put together the pieces when told linearly. Her description of her powers was familiar; in some respects, telepathy could be similar. He also recognized the feeling of drowning, the fear of being overwhelmed; it was, unfortunately, part and parcel of having a mental power that allowed (or forced, depending on how one wished to view it) one to share the experiences of others. He wished to tell her that it got easier; of course, he hadn’t believed that when he had been training, either, although it had been true nonetheless.

Like many in his generation, Sean had gone through an Eastern-appreciation phase sometime after he had left the Church. It hadn’t been an attempt to substitute belief on his part so much as it had been curiosity and multiculturalism. He’d had a Hindu friend, and they’d talked often and meditated together. Just as with the Stations of the Cross, certain aspects associated with Eastern practices were ingrained in his memory, despite belonging to a faith that wasn’t his. Even if he didn’t practice, he could see how such beliefs and practices could be of use or of comfort, particularly to an empath.

He knew that there were seven major chakras, and that there were also seven head chakras, with two overlapping to make twelve. Although people rarely referred to the head chakras as they were far less well-known. He’d paid attention to them, however, because that was what he knew best: the mind, which was also why he’d studied psychology in college and could map a brain with his eyes closed. He knew that knew that the names of the chakras, their associated colors, and their purposes differed slightly between traditional Hinduism and Tantric interpretations; he didn’t remember his Tantric quite as well, because he’d never had to rely on bells and whistles to have an out of body experience or to achieve a deep merger with a partner during a moment of intimacy. But he remembered enough to get through this conversation, surely: Crown, Brow, Throat, Heart, Solar Plexus, Sacral, and Base, each associated with one of the colors of the rainbow, and possessing three or four areas which it governed. “I’m not an expert, but I know a bit.”

Perhaps it said a bit about Sean that this was where his thoughts went first, but she was an empath. Touching his chest lightly with two fingers, he said, “Heart Chakra – the seat of devotion, passion, and unconditional love, isn’t that right?” He set his hand down, reaching again for his bottle of water.

“You’re doing just fine,” he reassured her. She had yet to lose him.

Sean wished to tell her that the impression that he was an all-knowing genius ala the Wizard of Oz was terribly flattering if inaccurate. He was intelligent and knowledgeable enough to have lived to reach his age, to have survived medical school and to have secured this job for a couple of decades, nothing more. But replying to thoughts that had never been given voice was not always the best course of action when attempting to calm another, even when that person had a power similar enough to his that she could potentially understand more than most. So he simply let it go, letting her handle her thoughts in the semi-privacy of her mind.

Of all things, it was the mention of “Avatar something” that gave Sean a vague sense of recognition; not that he was, or ever had been, in the habit of watching cartoons on Nickelodeon, but he had heard of this. He knew almost nothing about it, except that it was being made into a movie this summer and his nephew had a strong opinion about it based on principle, which he’d learned when they passed a marquee the last time he’d seen the boy. Well, he could settle in for a crash course in cartoons if it might be of aid to her. From her explanation, it was Eastern-based, which made it far deeper than the cartoons he remembered being on when Ryan was growing up, or when he’d begun practicing. After all, when was the last time a kid’s show led someone to a potential life-changing behavior? It wasn’t enough to make him begin watching the show, but it was good to know regardless. He nodded, actively listening, to her explanation both of the discovery and how the techniques had been of comfort to her; however, he was waiting for the inevitable “but...”

And there it was; the meditative practices weren’t helping as much as they had when she’d first discovered them, which was common for almost all practices, including drug therapy with a few exceptions. Nobody had said it was easy being a meta-human teenager, particularly not one with her powers. But more than the typical angst, and the less typical angst absorbed from those around her, what concerned him was the blow to her immune system – although that often came as a side effect of depression – and that she wasn’t eating, which could also exacerbate the situation. But he could get into the mind-body health effects later, after she had gotten the rest of this off her chest and had calmed marginally; nobody enjoyed a lecture. He wished her to finish her venting, but he wanted to make one point, just one that she might be able to carry with her later. “You aren’t helpless,” he told her; it was important that she believe him in that, lest she fall victim to self-fulfilling prophesy. “You’re at this school because you are anything but.” He then let her continue, not calling attention to the tears in her eyes; there was a box of tissues on his desk that she could use if she wished.

“I understand,” Sean told her, and it wasn’t the vague reassurance of a psychiatrist, trained to make a patient comfortable and let them believe that their neuroses were, if not normal than at least, worthy of sympathy. It wasn’t even a reference to his powers, allowing him to see her problems through her own point of view. No, he understood because he had been there, in a similar enough situation that the differences were moot. He had once sat in an office, much like this one, feeling as though he would buckle under the weight of his powers, as though his mind would shatter from thoughts that weren’t his.

“I want to be honest with you; some of what I’m going to say will sound like empty platitudes, but they aren’t. First, you have the innate ability to shoulder all of this; you’re an empath, and although I know it feels overwhelming, your ability is such that you can feel for more than one. Even if the process of getting there seems unbearable, and I know that it can. Second, have you spoken with your trainer about the difficulty? If not, then it would be a good place to begin for practical solutions, and if so, and nothing has worked thus far, I would be happy to meditate with you; in fact, I would be happy to regardless. Third, I would like to discuss your social situation here for a bit, unless you have strong objections.” That had been a mouthful, but he wanted to lay out a few options and reassurances for her, and then she could absorb them and accept or dismiss them as she wished.

The desire for a break was both understandable and heartbreaking; that, too, he remembered vividly. There was a pause, before he said, “I’m also hesitant to make this suggestion, but have you spoken with Miss Vasiliev?” There wasn’t a student at Hammel who was unfamiliar with Anya through reputation at the least; everyone knew of her powers, and she was associated with punishment, called in by other staff to control a rowdy student by temporarily sapping his powers. Yet there could be a benefit in losing powers, apart from punishment; it could provide a much-needed break to a student who was overwhelmed. He himself had never had his powers sapped, but he had benefitted from the presence of a stronger, more practiced telepath, who could shield him from invasive thoughts until he carried himself. Absent that for her, Anya might be a solution, albeit a temporary one. There was, of course, the risk of growing addicted to the silence, using it as a shortcut, which was why he was hesitant to suggest the solution, but if handled properly... “It would be temporary, of course, but if you needed an immediate break, the three of us, or the four of us with your trainer, could sit down and consider a course of action. Only if you wanted to.” He certainly didn't want her to think that he was forcing this on her, nor did he wish to go behind anyone's back with such treatment.

Sean hadn’t been the classical impression of anything since he was a schoolboy himself, least of all the classical psychiatrist. He was familiar with the depictions, of course, but they had never suited him. It was difficult to get to know another person with such high barriers, and unless they were necessary for professionalism or for handling a particularly difficult patient – Jesse came briefly to mind there – he preferred to dispense with them. He was a medically-trained adult speaking with a young adult in need, nothing more.

Sean gathered from that the fact that she hadn’t spoken with her trainer. It was a starting point, surely, because there was no other way for her to improve. Although various aspects of aiding the students overlapped and intersected, he couldn’t cross territory too much, couldn’t overstep his boundaries by leaps and bounds. “If you don’t mind my asking, who is your trainer?” If she wasn’t willing to speak with him or her, Sean could bring it up on his next coffee break; he was on good terms with the rest of the faculty.

Then she regarded him curiously but didn’t accept his offer to meditate with her. Leaving it open, Sean said, “the offer is on the table, should you ever want to take me up on it. I’m a bit rusty, but it might do us both some good.”

Sean understood that this could be an uncomfortable topic for some, particularly at her age; adolescence was a difficult time and the social fabric was constantly torn and sewn up again in new combinations. But he couldn’t help her cope if he didn’t have that background, since it was such a large part of being a teenager. He also realized that his question was blunt, but he didn’t want to beat around the bush, and he didn’t want her to have to linger on unpleasantness. If she answered in the negative, then they had an issue to tackle, although he would understand the underlying reasons. If she answered in the affirmative, then he would be glad, and with a brief follow up, they could move on from that topic completely. “Do you have friends here?”

Sean waited patiently for her to place Anya’s name with her reputation amongst the students, and after a moment, he was rewarded with the pieces of the puzzle coming together in Ann’s mind. He thought he saw brief acceptance and yet instead she shook her head, refusing the offer. He was trying not to probe her thoughts or invade her privacy more than the baseline of being a telepath around another person, but he wished to know the reason for the refusal. There was his list of possible problems, the negative outcomes if such treatment went unregulated, but those weren’t necessarily her reasons. He waited for her to voluntarily explain her refusal, but when such explanation didn’t come, he chose not to let it go. He had his suspicions, particularly given her declining his offer to meditate with him. The meek students could be just as complicated as the aggressive ones, in their own way.

Setting down his bottle of water, he leaned forward in his chair. Not enough to encroach on her personal space, as he remained firmly in “his” territory, but enough to show her that what he had to say was particularly important, and that he was going out on a limb, so to speak. Sincerely, he said, “I want to help you, Ann. But in order to do so, I need you to be willing to accept my help.

So Chase was her trainer; he was an easy man for Sean to speak with, and one who was open to problem solving over a pot of coffee. He could concern himself with that later, as he was unlikely to forget Ann or that Chase was her trainer now that it had been mentioned. Even if she didn’t think that she was worth anyone’s time, Sean would continue to work with her, and if necessary, around her, because he didn’t share that assessment. With a pleasant smile and brief nod, he thanked her for answering his question. That much was business, simpler treatment.

Sean wished that he could say that he was surprised to hear her confess that she had no friends here, but he wasn’t. It was expected in a way. She was shy, she was self-conscious, she had a power which made socialization very difficult, and being a teenager had never been easy. When he had first begun, he had been similar: frightened, pressured, unable to relate to others because in a different sense he related to others too well; all of the lines blurred. But he had been close to his trainer which had made all the difference. Then he and Maggie had begun dating, which had been good for both of them. He wasn’t patronizing with his response, nor did he intend to state the obvious, but he wanted to understand this more in-depth. “What about your roommates? Do you get along?”

Her reasons for not wishing to see Anya were in order: valid, and a mirror of his concern, and then incorrect yet understandable and all the more heartbreaking. He replied, "you are well within your rights to choose not to go see Miss Vasiliev, as that is your choice. However, I want to make one thing perfectly clear, so you need to listen to me: You aren’t any trouble, and you’re certainly worth my time and effort.” Sean had reached the limit of his capacity to pretend that he wasn’t listening to the litany of thoughts accompanying that which she had verbalized. And he certainly couldn’t let her say these things, think these things, believe such things in his office. Not when his office was intended as a safe space, a place of healing. He couldn’t let her keep that belief, expressed or otherwise, unchallenged. Not here. Not in his presence.

His heart went out to her. Not in pity but in sympathy, in empathy.

“I felt helpless when I was younger.” He couldn’t quite say “when I was your age” because he’d benefitted from years of Robert’s tutelage by the time he was her age, and he was mostly together at that point. Getting there had been a long process. One which, although necessary and beneficial, was one which he never wished to experience again.

“I thought I would drown.” It could be hard to believe. With the exception of Claude, and perhaps a few others, nobody at Hammel, nobody in Pilot Ridge, had known him then. He’d been the psychiatrist here for so long that he remembered some of his coworkers as students rather than the other way around. Some of those coworkers had been tent to him for counseling or disciplinary problems back in the day. Even then, he had been firmly in control, just as he was now, with mental shields thick enough to stop a bullet. A man, though aging, stronger than ever in that sense, who was capable of carrying others should they need it. Yet he had once been a boy, who had been carried, because he couldn’t stand on his own. Robert had saved his sanity, and Sean devoted his life to doing the same for others. “You won’t drown; I won’t let you. Please, allow me that much.”

Her word choice was curious, to an extent, given the subject of their meeting. He knew from context and from her later elaboration that she meant that they had little in common and barely interacted. Still, on a deeper level, Sean was also sure that they didn’t relate, in that they didn’t have a fundamental understanding. It was to be expected, since it was random dormitory assignments with the turnover of graduation, but that didn’t make it desirable. They could try another, related topic. “Have you tried the Internet for making a friend? Or a pen pal? That would give you some barrier for sharing that might help. I know it’s not the same, but it could suffice in the short term, and in the long term, perhaps you might want to try an extracurricular activity or two? One that’s a little more easygoing?”

Her belief that his drowning as an adolescent was in voice and yet apart from them was understandable but also mistaken; that was the difficulty with language, as it was a clumsy tool at best. Truthfully, their powers were more similar than she might think. At the height of it he, too, was in imminent danger of losing his sense of self. It had been a legitimate fear once, and it nagged at him in nightmares, on the rare occasion he suffered one. Thoughts, like emotions, were windows into the deepest self and could quite literally take over. But Sean had no interest in writing a book on the ins and outs of telepathy, as it would prove utterly useless to most of the population, depending on focus and scope, and what he’d learned and had to teach was best done through experience or by word of mouth. Besides, that more jaded and practical part of him realized that it would only come back to bite him later, since it would likely only fuel preexisting prejudices against meta-humans generally and psychics in particular.

Her apology rang clear as a bell in Sean’s mind, both for the word itself, denoting apology, and for the motivations and feeling behind it. He heard associated feelings, could see associated feelings, but he didn’t feel them the way that she did. That did nothing to make them less real or less valid. In fact, that was the hurdle he wished her to vault, to see that her thoughts and feelings, her needs and desires, were just as valid as everyone else’s. That she was worthwhile.

He made a calculated decision then, because of the pain she’d felt here in this office and because of her self-recrimination for having what might be one of the less dramatic breakdowns to ever occur here. He shut off that part of himself that feels, which was not the easiest task, since Sean did feel quite acutely, but she needed the respite. He dissociated, as he’d been trained to do all those decades ago, allowing him to analyze, to think of his feelings, memories, and thoughts in the abstract, but now removed from them, and in doing so, to help her remove herself as well.

There. He was calm, cool, collected, and that part of him which wanted to pull her into a comforting bear hug was behind a wall until further notice. He spoke with confidence, echoing a sentiment once conveyed to him when he’d been in her position. “You can. It will take work and dedication, and you’ll have to learn to remove ‘can’t’ from your vocabulary, but you can. I’m not so remarkable, Ann, that I overcame the deluge myself; I trusted someone enough to show me how. And now I’d like you to trust me. Will you?”