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“I never thought therapy was something I would consider. I
am hesitant even sitting here reading this to you.”
My hands didn’t stop
quivering as I laid down the piece of paper on the side table. My tears dropped
from the corner of my eyes and hit the wooden parquet floor, and I propped my
head back on the couch, hoping the tears would just gather back inside. I hate
weakness. I hate ruining my mascara.
“This is a great first step. Not many people come to my first session well prepared with everything jotted
down.”
“I guess that’s your first analysis of me. How I like to
have my thoughts thought out”
“Actually that was going to be my starting point.”
Great. Ten minutes in and I already feel like I want to
leave. This was a mistake. I don’t need therapy I need more self-discipline.
This is just a phase. Can I have a cigarette break in middle of my first therapy
session?
“So tell me, what really brings you here today? It’s
clear there are many elements in your life that you feel have driven you to the
point of suffocation, if I might use that word.”
Suffocation? More like a barbed wire noose closing my
windpipe chocking me.
“Yes.”
Sometimes I don’t recognize my own reflection. It’s like a
soulless face staring back at me. Should
I say that?
“Go on”
I found it hard to even blurt out how I really felt. I opened my mouth, but paralysis struck, I suddenly had no words to emote.
“You seem to have quite a bit to say before.”
I was twisting and turning the tear soaked tissue till the
pieces fell off. My gaze was fixated on the floor. I like her rug. I wonder if
therapists’ offices have a special design that must be followed to invoke a
sense of security and safety. I wasn’t feeling safe. I was feeling stupid
sitting there.
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