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GUESS WHO?

Twenty-five faces stare back at me from the screen, each one in its own little square. It’s like a real-life game of Guess Who? – the Trauma Edition.

I flick them down in my brain as we wait.

Do they have brown eyes?

Are they wearing a hat?

Do they have a big nose?

Hmm…

I’m not doing very well. The faces are too small to determine eye colour, there are lots of people wearing a hat (mildly interesting), and we don’t nose shame in today’s society so this is not a useful line of questioning. I need to be more specific.

Do they look like they ’ ve had a near-fatal blow to the skull?

Better…

Flick . Flick . Flick . Flick .

Do they look like they were dropped on their head as a small child?

Definitely some.

Flick . Flick . Flick .

Do they look like they ’ re dead behind the eyes?

Flick . Flick .

Oh my God, Melinda was right. My people. My tribe.

Do they look like they ’ re confused and uncomfortable?

Flick . Flick .

‘Welcome.’ The speaker is a softly spoken and serious man whose display name reads Dr Konstantinos Athanasiou. He’s conventionally handsome with a tan and a rugged beard with a bit of grey in it. Probably about fifty.

Melinda isn’t running the session, but I can see her in her own little square in the bottom corner of my screen. She has her glasses on and a more casual top than the one she was wearing at my exorcism – a knit pullover with a turtleneck. When she sees me, she smiles and opens her eyes in a way that says I ’ m a little surprised, but glad you came . At least I think it’s aimed at me. Her display name reads just Melinda. Too cool for a surname. Like Socrates. Or Jesus. Or Madonna.

‘You can call me Dr A,’ Dr Konstantinos Athanasiou says. A few of the faces relax. Clearly they were afraid that attempting to say his name would elicit another Major Traumatic Experience. ‘Thank you for joining us. I’m here with Melinda.’ Melinda waves from her square. A few people sheepishly wave back.

‘Some of you may know me and some of you may know Melinda from therapy. For those of you I’ve not met before, I’m a psychologist and have worked extensively with victims – or survivors – of trauma for over twenty-five years, particularly those who struggle with memory loss around the incidents that have caused them pain. For those of you who don’t know Melinda, she is a widely celebrated psychotherapist who also specialises in trauma. We’ve created this group to give you teenagers an open and relaxed space to connect and share your truth.’ I try my best not to pull a face at this.

‘Some of you may know each other from previous support groups, but many of you haven’t met before. Please try not to be nervous – you’re all in the same boat.’ He smiles gently at us. ‘A few rules of the group to begin. Everything you hear here should be kept anonymous, for the safety of each person. Please do not cross-share, which means mentioning any other participant, offering them advice or referencing them in any way when you speak. This is not a space for debate, but for support. Listening is our way of doing that here.’

As Dr A continues, I can see Melinda staring at me. I mean, she could be staring at anyone. But it’s definitely me. ‘If you’d like to share, use the raise hand function you can find at the bottom of your screen and we’ll call on you when it’s your turn. If you’re not sharing, please be respectful and keep your microphone muted.’

I look at my own square. I’ve put a hoodie on, so Melinda won’t see I’ve shaved my head. She might be alarmed by that. Or not. She might not care, but I don’t want her texting my parents about it. I’ve wiped off most of the face paint, but it’s still a bit smeared around the edges. My skin actually looks grey, the light above my bed highlighting the bags under my eyes.

Dr A lays out more sharing rules, about staying empathetic to ourselves, not going into too much detail about the trauma in case we trigger one another, keeping things broad and not discussing where we live or mentioning surnames. My chat box blinks at me.

Melinda (host):

Hi Eli. I’m so glad you came. Did you tell your parents?

I lock eyes with her and she gives a discreet smile. I type back.

Elias Gollum:

No. You were right.

I want them to know I’m fine now. Because I am fine now.

I smile broadly and watch her frown in her square.

Melinda (host):

Let me know if you need me during this. Or if anything makes you feel uncomfortable. Or wobbly. Anything at all.

Wobbly. I don’t get wobbly.

Elias Gollum:

Will do. But I am cured now

Melinda sits back. I don’t see her typing to anyone else, which makes me feel a little bit special and a little of a charity case all at once.

A few yellow hands appear next to people’s faces.

‘Annabel, you were first,’ Dr A says. ‘Would you like to share?’

I search for Annabel and find her at the top of my screen, fiddling with her keypad probably trying to find the unmute button. She’s around my age, with dark curly hair and a very nice set of straight white teeth.

‘Hi, yes. Thanks, Dr A. My name is Annabel and I’m a trauma survivor.’ Everyone waves silently back at Annabel. ‘Thanks, everyone. It’s really good to be here. So, I just want to say thank you to Melinda for guiding me through this past year.’ Melinda smiles. ‘Like we’ve been instructed, I won’t get into the gory details of the incident, but a year ago I was involved in an accident. I fell from a roof, three storeys tall, at a party.’

I squint at Annabel. I think I can see a small scar on her forehead. Your tribe . Your people .

‘I have since experienced post traumatic dissociative amnesia.’ That’s different to mine. That means Annabel can’t remember the period of time before, not after, her incident. ‘I’ve been able to piece together the memories with Melinda and I’m moving forwards. The most important thing I’ve learned during this journey is that the feelings and emotions that have at times felt muted are gradually coming back. I feel like I’m now living in the real world again. It took a little time, it is ongoing, but acceptance is the most important thing. And I’m learning to trust again. I suffered this freak accident and I’m angry that it happened, but I’m still here.’

I can see her eyes glistening. She seems to be feeling something, which is good to see. I mean, I don’t want her to be sad, of course I don’t. ‘I’m alive. And I’m so grateful for that. Keep going, guys. Life is for living. We must remember that.’ Her voice cracks slightly as she finishes. She puts her thumb up to the screen and is met with twenty-four thumbs up reciprocating, including mine.

Well done, Annabel.

Next, a boy named Max shares. ‘Hi, I’m Max and I’m a trauma survivor.’ Max looks about sixteen and fell off the roof of his school. He suffered such bad injuries to his head and his retrograde amnesia was so extensive that he’s been piecing together the past two years of his life. Two years . He says there were certain friends he couldn’t remember, but his family have been supporting him through it. At least he can feel things now. He often feels lonely, like no one quite understands, but he’s now feeling much better than he did.

Dr A is helping him see the beauty in life again. He’s able to see things like the colour of the grass or the sky, or smell things like strong coffee and appreciate them. They now make him feel good. He knows this might sound silly or simple, but he says it’s important. When he does, I realise my life has been in greyscale since I got back from the hospital. I like Max. He seems a little confused, but his passion for getting better makes me know that he will.

I think I have it too. That passion. That desire.

The shares go on and I study the faces in their tiny squares, all listening intently and nodding supportively. A patchwork quilt of ages, genders, ethnicities, hairstyles, facial structures and postures. Some lean on both hands, some just one, others sit upright like they’re in class. But all have exactly the same expression. It’s hard to name. A blend of empathy, pride and thinly veiled confusion. Some people still look a little blank.

I check my own face in my square. A little blank too. But my brow is furrowed. A big crease has appeared between my eyebrows, which happens when I’m interested. When I’m listening.

Next, it’s a girl and a woman’s turn. Willow and Sandra. Two faces side by side in their square. The girl, Willow, looks about fourteen and the woman appears to be her mother. Willow had a trampolining accident and has been struggling with anterograde amnesia – forgetting the period of time after the event, like me.

Her mum holds her hand throughout her share, in which she talks about being reintegrated to school and socialising with friends again. She smiles and laughs as she talks, saying that Melinda has helped her move forwards and find a new path outside of trampolining. She was good enough to be picked for the Olympic squad, Sandra tells us, and people start to clap silently. But this makes Willow uncomfortable. ‘I’m moving past it now,’ she tells us and the silent clapping stops.

As the shares continue, I learn that most people here have hit their head. Been in a fall, a horrific accident – a few motor collisions, someone got struck in the face with a brick during an unprovoked attack by a drunk. One girl shows her scars, but Dr A steps in to gently remind her to keep her share broad and unspecific.

Some don’t want to discuss their incidents at all, but focus purely on the recovery. They talk about the positives and the solution : how much their memory recall and emotional processing has helped. Many mention the trauma-processing event (or, as we call it, the pain exorcism) as a turning point in their journey. This makes me feel broken again, but I also want what they have. I’m jealous without feeling it.

Dr A and Melinda nod empathetically, always listening, always watching as the sharers tell their truth.

‘Hi, I’m Jack and I’m a trauma survivor.’ I look at Jack. A boy with a beanie about my age. I’m not here to virtually flirt – that would be inappropriate – but I find myself shuffling to find a better position beneath the light so I look less like a devil. Typically, I wouldn’t mind that, but Jack is cool and handsome, albeit not in a conventional way. Which, you know, is cool. His face is slender and he has sunken eyes, but also a softness to his features. It’s a little like he’s been hollowed out, like the previous version of him was fuller in some way. But his shoulders are broad. He was one of the people I kept up in my game of Guess Who? – the Trauma Edition as appearing dead behind the eyes.

‘So…’ he says quietly. ‘I think honesty is important. And while I’m so pleased for you all – really, I am – for getting to a place where you can move forwards, the truth for me is different. I still don’t remember anything.’

This makes me sit up. I lean forwards towards the screen. I watch as others sit forwards too. Melinda’s eyes are flicking over her screen like she’s joining dots between the onlookers. ‘And it’s pissing me off,’ Jack goes on.

Out of the corner of my eye I see someone named Toby waving his hand. The little red microphone with the cross through it disappears as he unmutes himself. ‘Hi, Jack. Let’s remember to keep it positive! Dr A and Melinda want us to focus on—’

Jack pulls his beanie forwards slightly. He doesn’t look embarrassed. He looks a bit – nothing. ‘Right, yeah. Thanks, Toby. I just wanted to share my truth and all.’

Toby looks very pleased with himself. ‘Well, I don’t think people want to—’

‘I want to hear it,’ I say out loud.

I freeze. Oh, thank God. I’m still on mute.

‘Let him speak,’ Dr A puts in. ‘Go on, Jack.’

Toby nods apologetically.

‘I dunno. I just… I’m here for the truth.’ Jack fiddles with his fingers. ‘That’s what I want. And I’d be lying if I said I’d moved on in any way because I don’t know what I’m moving on from . Not really. I’ve been told, but I have absolutely no reference point. Just other people’s words.’ He pauses. ‘I don’t want sympathy. Or empathy. Whatever those things even are. But I feel isolated. Melinda keeps telling me that’s normal but…’ He’s one of Melinda’s patients too. ‘But I don’t have a… I don’t…’ He scratches his cheek.

‘Look, I don’t have lots of other people to help me remember, so I’m doing it on my own and it’s not easy.’ I see nodding heads pulling sympathetic faces, some narrowing their eyes compassionately like they’re transmitting their deepest condolences through the screen. I catch Toby put his thumb up and mouth you got this, mate like the patronising twat he is. It makes me bristle. He should hang out with Paula and Steve.

‘I sometimes see flashes,’ Jack continues. ‘I won’t go into the gory details , but there aren’t many ways to say it. I was found by someone on the bank of a river, beneath a bridge. Apparently, I’d tried to end my own life.’ The squares all go immediately still. Mouths hang half open. ‘But I can’t remember any of it. I don’t really feel like I belong here. Or anywhere right now. It’s no way to live – in a vacuum. I’m trying to appreciate the smaller things, but I’m numb. Blank and numb. The past is a mush. Completely hazy. And I feel like if I don’t figure this out soon I…’ He stops again. This time I wonder if his connection is broken because he goes very silent and still, his face like a vacant doll. But then he slowly shakes his head. ‘I just want to get to the bottom of this. The only thing I really feel is that something is missing. A sort of longing.’

Wait. I said that. I said that .

‘Thank you, Jack,’ Dr A says gently. ‘You may feel alone, but we’re here for you. All of us. That’s why we have created this group. So, you can understand that you’re not alone.’

Jack smiles emptily at the screen. ‘Thanks. Yeah.’

‘Olivia, it’s your turn…’

I can’t stop looking at Jack as he lowers his head. I watch his hand take hold of something dangling round his neck in front of his hoodie. It catches the light as he begins to turn it between his fingers. I lean towards the screen. Hanging from a silver chain is a wooden pendant. A rose. It looks a little odd, misshapen, perhaps home-made, but also kind of beautiful in a twisted way.

I glance at the room behind him. It looks big. I can see a bunk bed and a poster on the wall with the words TURNING TIDES TOGETHER beneath an image of a wave. I hover the cursor over his face, clicking, trying to find a way to message him. I open the chat box, but the direct messaging function has been disabled and I can only message the hosts. I tap his face with my finger as if it might make him look up, but he doesn’t.

I unmute myself.

‘Jack,’ I say, cutting off Olivia. Oops. This is bad. But also he looks up, so good.

He sits up straight, his eyes searching for the square my voice has come from. When he finds it he squints at me, unsure. Most people are doing the same. I try not to look at Melinda’s expression.

‘Elias,’ Dr A’s voice says. ‘It’s Olivia’s turn. You can use the raise hand function at the bottom of the—’

‘Yeah, I know. Love the raised hand function. Love democracy. But I just wanted to say…’ What did I want to say? ‘Jack. Um. Thanks. And keep going.’ He looks at me blankly. I smile, doing my best to look … nice. He nods, mouths thanks , then drops his head back down.

Olivia shoots me a look so severe it’s like she’s trying to cause me another head injury. ‘Sorry, Olivia…’ I say, then quickly mute myself again. I don’t have to look directly at Toby’s twat-head to know he’s performatively shaking it with disapproval.

‘As I was saying, I’m really grateful…’ Olivia begins again. I chew my lip. Oops. Oh well. I liked what he said, and I think—

The bottom of my screen blinks.

Melinda (host):

Are you OK, Eli?

I find her face in the tapestry. Frowning, concerned.

Elias Gollum:

Yes, great. I feel really settled and great and excited to move on to the next chapter.

Felt worried for Jack there!

More frowning. She doesn’t believe me.

Melinda (host):

You seem a little unsettled.

Elias Gollum:

I’m not. I wasn’t.

Melinda (host):

Did something Jack say upset you?

Elias Gollum:

No. Not at all.

Melinda squints at me.

Elias Gollum:

It’s sad what happened to him. He seems nice.

Her face is closer to her screen now.

Melinda (host):

He’ll get there. Like you are.

Elias Gollum:

Good luck to him.

I watch her nod, then smile.

Melinda (host):

I’m glad you came. It’s been really useful.

Elias Gollum:

Yes, Melinda. In realising how fucked I truly am.

I’m joking. I don’t type that. But I want to.

I see Melinda’s attention has shifted away from me, back into the virtual room. She’s now nodding along as Olivia shares her truth about being kicked in the face by a horse.

I glance around the screen, searching for Jack. I go through each square, one by one, but after a few minutes of checking and re-checking, I realise he’s gone.

There’s a knock at my cellar door and Mum’s voice comes from behind it. ‘There’s someone here for you, Eli.’