how to break a girl

You know what I'd like? A happy story with a happy ending. Just once. Just for a moment I want to feel like I can make a difference again.
I used to feel like I could save the world, even if it was by touching (quite literally) one person at a time.
The idea of saving the world... Hmm. Seems a little romantic, doesn't it? How about saving someone. Anyone.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not looking for credit. I'm not looking for someone to pat me on the back. I just want to feel good about the things I say. I want to know that at the end of the day I did the right thing, and all my good intentions were not wasted in vain.
We are all destined to navigate our own uncharted seas blah blah blah. Yea, I know. So why do I have this need or want to fix things? You. Them. Us. Me.
I'm a believer in fate. Every single minute of every single moment of my life, has gotten me to this very point. I have said this time and time again and anyone who really knows me has heard it, and maybe even believes it.
Words can make or break you. People mouth words to me all day long. Most of them I actually hear.
A client of mine named Eve, told me she wanted to die the other day.
She said, then I said, then she said...
"I'm ready to die, A."
"What?"
"I'm serious, I'm ready to die. I've been thinking about it for a long time now."
"Eve, come on. You can't be serious."
"But I am serious."
Is she serious? She's kidding, right? She'll say she's kidding any minute. She just wants to see what I'll say.
"Okay, what gives? Why the sudden interest in dying."
"I'm hurting. I'm tired of hurting this much. I'm tired of being tired because I hurt."
"Okay, well what makes you NOT hurt? I think.."
"Stop. Nothing works. Everything hurts. I'm always in pain."
"So just like that, you want to die?"
"Yes. I want to die."
"So you are going to try to kill yourself."
She's not going to try and kill herself. She won't. She has kids and a husband and a career and friends and a life.
"What about your husband and your kids?"
"My husband isn't going to care. Besides, he's screwing around."
Hmmm. There was that time when he had a whole conversation with my chest. I wouldn't put it past him. Lie to her anyway.
"Eve. That's not true."
"It is. And my kids, they'll be fine. Trust me. They are all grown-up and have their own lives now. They won't even miss me"
Maybe? Your kids do not speak kindly of you. It's been a while but I remember meeting your daughter and your older son. They seemed rude and abrasive.
"Eve, you are what? 48?"
"51, and I feel like I'm 100. I'm not getting better y'know. I'm getting worse."
You're right. 3 long years after your accident and you still break-out in a cold sweat when you have to walk more than 5 feet. The last time I helped you undress your scars zig-zagged across your back like a road map. Your femininity is hidden by over-sized clothes that shield your body from the stares and whispers of strangers.
And at this point. I actually start to believe her. I can practically smell my own fear and yet see her honesty shining through as bright as neon lights . My voice is a shaky and I completely stop the massage and sit next to her on my table.
"I know you don't believe me. Look, I'm not going to try to kill myself. I'm just not going to stop myself from dying."
This might seem strange to some of you. But I get what she is saying.
She is basically not going to live her life as carefully as you and I would. And with that in mind she will definitely put the thought of dying out there for the world to see, welcoming death like a returning soldier.
We talked for a while longer and then our time was up.
And she was on her way, just like that.
So what the fuck do I do?
If I see one more client die this year, if I have to go to one more funeral, sign one more card, hear Ave Maria one more time,
all the stitching that holds me together will simply
unravel.

It's so easy not to care.
But I enjoy the effort of actually giving a shit about someone.
But how far really can I go?
How much can I say? Is it up to make difference in someone's life, when they have so little regard for their own? Is it my job to talk someone into or out of a choice. Am I part of their destiny?
How can I possibly talk someone into living with their pain when it is so great and so consuming-like nothing I can ever imagine. How can I convince someone that they are needed, when everyone who is important to them makes it abundantly clear that they are disposable?

I guess I'm still looking for my role, but I'm open to suggestions.