'So…' Mum clears her throat, she puts the red pen down for a while and looks deep into my eyes in order to connect with me as much as possible. 'How is Janet?'

Lately we have come to this strategy of talking about my sessions, since it's the easiest and most relaxed way we could think of. She asks me how Janet is, and in my reply about Janet's life and mood, I basically include the facts about mine. I never talk about the sessions as about sessions, nor as about curing my mental health issues.

'Janet is wonderful,' I respond, and I can almost see the metaphorical wave of relief coming all over her body. She's always very happy when I give her this answer because it means that everything's OK with me and I'm not going to kill myself yet…

Screw the fact that I automatically had to add the 'yet' at the end of the previous sentence.

'Is she?' Mum's face is glowing with relief. 'I'm glad to hear that! Any interesting news?'

Almost as if she knew, damn it! I didn't really want to talk about this, but I would have to face the reality sooner or later anyway, so I might as well get it over with now. 'Actually, yes,' I nod, and her look gets even more intense, which is a bit frightening and intimidating, especially because of the strict-looking cat-eyed glasses. I take a deep breath because saying this is insanely far from easy. 'She's getting married and moving to London.'

Mum's expression changes rapidly, and now there's like no emotion in her face at all, which is scary. Finally, she puts on a worried face, stands up and walks towards me to grab my hand.

'I'm sorry about that,' she says in an empathic voice, and this is one of those big moments that make me regret every bad word I have ever said to Janet about my mum's constant busyness. Just the touch of her hand, even if it only lasts for ten seconds, is empowering, and I know that it should make me strong enough.

'It's her life,' I say numbly. 'She deserves to live it up. To get married and start a family.'

'Oh my god, is she pregnant too?'

'Not yet, but I'm sure she'll want to have at least one child.' To be honest, I think it would be a crime not to have a child when you're such a nice, smart and genuinely loveable person. Keeping those fabulous genes for yourself would be quite selfish and unfair, especially to the future generations.

'Why does she need to move away, though?' The confusion in Mum's face is killing me. 'Should your father and I talk to her about it? Perhaps we could talk some sense into her. She can't leave her pa-…' She stops right before saying the word 'patients', also one from the 'we-never-mention-that-in-our-house' category. 'She can't leave you like this.'

I shake my head, as I really don't want my parents trying to convince Janet that moving away is a mistake. I'd never forgive myself for letting them force my utterly sweet psychologist into something else than what she has chosen for herself. 'She can do whatever she wants. You're allowed to quit your job too.'

Her eyes turn into very narrow apertures and her voice rises. 'But I would never do that! I know what my responsibility is!'

'I know you do, Mum,' I sigh and kiss her on the cheek. 'Not everyone is like you, though. You're unique.' And so is Janet. But I know Mum won't understand and she'll be mad at her because she can't imagine someone being reckless enough to quit their job and not consider it an absolutely shameful act of cowardice and betrayal.

'Please, promise me that you won't try to persuade her to stay.'

'But sweetheart, she makes you so much better, doesn't she?' My mum looks as desperate as I feel inside about Janet's decision to move to a different city, and seeing her reaction is making me think about it a bit more and realise how lost in the darkness of the world and my own soul I'm going to be without my guiding light.

Oh my god. It suddenly hits me in all its greatness.

No more sessions. No more kind, perfectly put words.

Oh.

My.

God.

What if this is it? What if I'll miss Janet so much that her leaving my life will be the reason for me ending it?

This can't be happening. I need to get out of here because our kitchen is full of sharp knives and glass bowls I could break and I could cut myself with the fragments. I know Mum wouldn't let me do it, but she can't stop my growing urge to do it, and I just can't stand here with her and pretend I'm not fighting it again.

'Would you excuse me?' I mumble very fast, and I quickly back out and head to the garden, my peaceful space, my zen zone. I sit on the bench that's opposite the shed and I breathe in and out, again and again. I have to calm down. I count to ten. I count the bushes in our garden. I count the number of times I smiled this week, but the number is too low to give me enough time to relax, so I count the number of times I have re-watched Gilmore Girls instead. This number is a higher one, and the breathing also helps a lot.

The panic is slowly going away, and I'm kind of proud of myself. This was a pretty short attack compared to plenty of other ones I've been through during the past two years. Maybe I'm getting better. I have to tell Janet about this next time I see her. If that ever happens, of course. But I'll have to keep from her that she's the reason I broke down in the first place. I don't want her feeling guilty because of me. That wouldn't be fair.

I still stand behind what I've told Mum. Janet deserves to be happy.

But what about me? What about my happy ending?

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