The days leading up to my first session with Dr. Eleanor Price were some of the longest I had ever experienced. Time stretched unnaturally, as though it were testing my resolve. Every second felt weighted, like a reminder that I was on the edge of exposing the parts of myself I had kept hidden for so long.
I tried to distract myself with routine tasks—cleaning the apartment, running errands, even skimming through books I had abandoned long ago. None of it worked. My thoughts always circled back to that appointment, the imaginary scenarios playing out in my head like a loop. Would she be able to tell what I really was? Would she see through the carefully constructed facade I wore so skillfully?
The morning of the session, I woke up before my alarm, my body tense with nervous energy. I moved through my routine in a daze, barely tasting the coffee I made or noticing the sunshine filtering through the curtains. My mother was already out for the day, sparing me the need for small talk.
The walk to her office was a blur. My hands were shoved deep into my jacket pockets, my head down as I tried to block out the noise of the world around me. When I finally arrived, the modest brick building looked unassuming—almost too normal for the storm raging inside me.
The receptionist greeted me with a polite smile, handing me a clipboard with a stack of forms. I filled them out with robotic efficiency, my hands moving on autopilot. The questions about my mental health, my history, and my reasons for seeking therapy made my stomach churn. I answered vaguely, just enough to be truthful without revealing too much.
"Dr. Price will see you now," the receptionist said, her tone soft.
I stood, my legs feeling heavier than they ever had before. The short walk down the hallway felt like a march to an uncertain fate. When I entered the room, Dr. Price was seated in a chair near a small table. The room was warm and inviting, decorated with soft lighting and muted tones. She stood to greet me, her smile kind but not overbearing.
"You must be Psychobi," she said, her voice calm and steady. "It's nice to meet you."
I nodded, unable to find my voice.
"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing to a chair across from her.
I sat down, my posture stiff and guarded. She didn't seem fazed by it, her demeanor remaining calm.
"I know the first session can feel a little intimidating," she said, her tone reassuring. "We'll take things at your pace. You can share as much or as little as you're comfortable with."
I hesitated, my mind racing. A part of me wanted to bolt out of the room, to abandon this idea entirely. But her steady gaze anchored me, and I found myself speaking before I realized it.
"I don't know where to start," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"That's okay," she said gently. "Why don't you tell me what brought you here today?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. I stared at the floor, my hands gripping the armrests of the chair.
"I… I feel like something's wrong with me," I began, the admission tumbling out awkwardly. "I've always felt this way, but lately it's been worse. I don't know how to fix it."
Her expression remained calm, free of judgment. "Can you tell me more about what you mean by 'wrong'?"
I hesitated, the urge to pull back almost overwhelming. But then I thought of Mara, her unwavering belief that I could change. "I have thoughts," I said finally. "Dark thoughts. They've been with me for as long as I can remember."
Dr. Price nodded, her pen moving across a notepad. "Thank you for sharing that. It takes courage to talk about these things. Can you tell me how these thoughts affect your daily life?"
I swallowed hard, my chest tight. "I fake it," I said bluntly. "I pretend to be normal, to feel things I don't. It's exhausting, but it's the only way I know how to survive."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes meeting mine. "That sounds incredibly difficult. It's clear you've been carrying a lot on your own. But you don't have to do that anymore. We can work on this together."
Her words were simple, yet they carried a weight I wasn't prepared for. For the first time in years, I felt a small crack in the walls I had built around myself. Whether that was a good thing or not, I couldn't yet tell.
The session continued, her questions gentle yet probing. I answered as honestly as I could without revealing too much. By the time it ended, I felt drained, as though I had just run a marathon.
"Thank you for coming today," she said as I stood to leave. "This is a process, and it will take time, but I believe we can make progress together."
I nodded, my throat tight. As I walked out of the office, the weight on my shoulders felt slightly lighter. It wasn't much, but it was something.
And for now, that was enough.
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