Emotional Boys 2000

15

"Is this a common occurrence with you..?"

"What? Today? No... no" I mumble, keeping my eye on the soft glow of the lamp in the corner of the room.

I feel like I'm in a bubble in this moment. I'm free from all the lights, all the sounds, all the noise...

Everything in the psychologist's office makes me feel... briefly safer.

I suppose that's what it's supposed to do.

I appreciate the warm colors, the comfortable couch, soft and inviting. The maple colored walls, welcoming in nature.

"Where do you work..?" He asks, looking up at me with a serious yet calm expression, urging me to pull the answer out of my lungs.

"New York Stock Exchange"

"The New York stock exchange?" He reiterates, eyes widening ever so slightly, indicating how shocked he is, though professionally covering it up, reducing it to the small body movement.

"Yeah" is all I let out, getting a nod from him, his hand swiftly swaying with the movement as he jots down the information.

"Mhm, how satisfied would you say you are with your job?" He continues, making me sigh, releasing the nervous energy.

How satisfied am I even...?
I'm satisfied... yeah.
It's just stressful sometimes... but that's work. Yeah, that's work...

"I'm fairly satisfied. I've always wanted to be where I am." I speak, void of emotion in my tone, hoping to glaze over having to think too hard about it.

"Doesn't mean you have to fool yourself into thinking it's what you want now. How do you actually feel about it now..?" Fuck. Well he saw right through that...

"It's... uh.... Tiring... really tiring... I mean- I don't think it's so much the job as it is keeping up with socials... like- especially being a woman, I can't slip up around people... ever. I feel like I'm blowing so much money... on the shit I hate most. This suit is from Dolce&Gabbana... but it's just a regular black suit. I could get the same thing at like a Winners or something. But everyone wants to know what you're wearing, where you live, how fancy is your street, how fancy is your bag..? I just... feel reduced to a mouth piece for luxury brand culture or something... I just. I just feel like I'm never not presenting, never not working." The words float out of me, not thinking about them before releasing them for him to hear.

He nods throughout it all, jotting down the important details he picked up on.

I don't even know what coming here will accomplish. What? It will announce I've got a problem and what? Send me on my way?

"Well... Mrs. Domitia, you aren't alone in this, I get many workers on Wall Street coming in here, bringing up similar issues with you... typically however, they don't react like you have. Usually it's a gradual build of unhappiness... anxiety. Your boyfriend said you seemed to be... loosing it? It's rare, but we do get the occasional person coming in, young, assuming they've had a heart attack, but in reality, they were having a panic attack. Did you experience any tightness in your chest, difficultly breathing, the need to breath faster?" He asks me softly, making me at least feel like I haven't lost.

I don't want to fall behind.
I don't want to prove anyone right.
The idea that women can't handle the same amount of stress guys can.
The idea that we crack more often.
I'm not proving anyone right by having a panic attack.
It happens right?
Yeah.
I'm fine.
I'll be fine.
I'm not loosing anything.
I'm not loosing the game.
I'm beating it.
I'm winning.