To Perceive an Image

Thirty-One: Images of What Exasperation Can Do

Maryanland, September 24, 2040, 7:47 AM

"I'm a loser," mumbled my client, defeat pushing down their shoulders and confidence.

"And what makes you think that way?"

Mrs. Franklin shrugs, "I just feel like there isn't much that I've accomplished. These feelings get worse when I look at my friends and notice the big stuff they're doing. Good jobs, annual vacations, anything and everything I see them do makes me feel like shit."

My eyes maintain contact with hers as she spoke. I've become better at not nodding every damn second and after each syllable a client voices. If I were in their place, I'd feel creeped out seeing my therapist nodding this many times. With practice, by practice, I mean taking part in many sessions, I've learned to only nod when necessary. Or in this case, whenever the client looks at me to make sure I understand what they're conveying to me. Or when I want to make sure they know I'm tuned in.

"Do you feel like this when you see how others are living their lives outside of just your friends?"

"No, just them, and when I'm left alone with my thoughts. Seeing my friends makes me compare myself to them. And seeing myself makes me bring up my friends and the comparison that I keep making," she sighs, and I nod in understanding.

Time to get to work.

I rip a paper from my notebook and place it in front of Mrs. Franklin. My arm stretches forward to hand her the pen in my hand, which she grabs with reluctance.

I lean forward, so I can get a good look at what she will write on the paper. Although my neck had some craning to do since she was sitting in front of where I am. But it's alright, the comfort of the client always comes first.

"Write your name on the top, you can include your full name, nickname, or initials. Anything that will remind you of yourself will suffice," my finger follows the direction of my words and points to the top of the paper.

Mrs. Franklin nods and does what I said. I glance at doctor Mohammad behind a computer screen at the desk not too far away from us. My eyes are discreet as they search for any sign from him that'll tell me I'm not fucking this up. He gives me a curt nod when he notices my gaze before resting his gaze on Mrs. Franklin.

My head cranes to look at the paper, which now has a name written at the top.

Lana Franklin said the neat handwriting.

"Perfect, now I want you to write anything you consider an achievement. It can be grand, or as simple as waking up. You can write as much as you can."

At the speed of light, Mrs. Franklin gets to the job. When she writes a reasonable list, she looks at me. I don't look down at the paper, choosing to focus on her instead. "Would you like to explain each thing you wrote?" I propose, and she gives a vigorous nod.

"Well, I got married in my early twenties despite my family's reluctance and hatred towards my then boyfriend. We also moved to a foreign country together and adapted to a new life all by ourselves. I spent most of my time teaching myself the unfamiliar language and place. Mastered the language and geography in three years. I conceived three of my children via IVF, I fought through the hell that is infertility. Five healthy children wait for me at home every day. And well, my biggest achievement of all is as simple as you said. Waking up knowing a day full of doubting myself doesn't make it easy, but I still do it."

Perfect.

"Great job listing personal examples, Mrs. Franklin. Through this, we can see that you overcame the many challenges thrown at you with the help of your closest resources. Having that said, do you still think that you are a loser?"