Evelyn's Lesson In Recovery

Therapy

"Evelyn, come on." my mom says as I pace my room. I go out to the car, almost slipping on a patch of ice. We stay silent the whole ride and she pulls in front of the ominous looking building. We wait in tense silence until it's near time to see my new psychologist. We go in and I look around. It's a colorful waiting room and there are a lot of teens and kids here. My heart starts racing and my mouth is dry. My mom signs me in and guides me to a seat. We wait for ten minutes before a woman with dark brown hair and green eyes comes out. "Evelyn?" she asks, her voice resonating through the waiting room.
I walk to her with my head down and she points me to a room on the right of the hall. I go in and am overwhelmed with bright colors. She motions for me to sit down on a couch. I do and I cross my legs. She sits across from me. "I'm Harper, this is just the first appointment, I'll tell you what to expect, how often you'll be here, and what you want to get out of this. Okay?" she explains. I survey her carefully. She's tan and of average height and build. She's wearing glasses and her hair is down to her waist. There are a few braids in the long mess of hair. She's wearing a green tank top with a brown cardigan and brown pants.
"Evelyn?" Harper asks. I look up, but I avoid her eyes. "Your school counselor noted you have social anxiety and you get panic attacks and you, also, self harm. Let's start simply. How're you doing?" she asks. I shrug. "How are you?" she asks in a sing-songy voice. I don't answer. "You can expect to have to speak and have your thoughts challenged and you'll be asked to do things you don't feel comfortable doing. You'll have counseling twice a week, on Monday's and Thursday's and our goal is to let you be free of your social anxiety and panic attacks." she says, moving on after I refuse to speak.
"Lynn told me it takes you a while to open up, so neither of us are leaving until you speak." Harper says. I glare at her, my heart beating out of my chest. I feel sick and dizzy, but I still refuse to speak. Suddenly, I run to a trash can and I throw up. Harper is patting my back as I gag. I fall flat on my side from trying to get away from Harper. "Does being touched bother you?" she asks. I nod as I back into a corner. "Why?" she asks, finger combing her hair. I shrug. "Explain yourself honey." she whispers. I shake my head and hug my knees. "Yes." she says, sitting on her knees. I shake my head once again, I can't speak to her. I take a shaky breath and look around.
"Being touched.............means people are...........w-way............too.........close to.......me........I can't..............do it." I whisper. Harper smiles and says "thank you for explaining. It makes so much sense." I wipe my eyes and try to hide the fact I was crying.
"Harper?" I ask. She hums inquisitively. "I'm so scared...................I have to go to school late...........and when I walk in.........everyone will stare...........I can't..............I can't...........this is..........GAH!!" I try to explain before I start crying. "Being stared at makes you anxious?" she asks. I nod and wipe my eyes. "I said you'll have to do things that make you uncomfortable, so I'm making you go to school, honey. You have to go to class. Also, I have a question. Do you always get sick when your anxiety is high?" she explains. I nod and lay my head on my knees. "You have to go to a psychiatrist for medicine for your Social Anxiety Disorder." she says, writing something on a piece of paper she grabbed from her desk.
I sigh and begin to pace. "A psychiatrist that works in this office can see you in about ten minutes, okay?" Harper says. I shrug. "Good." she says, not paying attention to what I'm saying without saying. I'm pointed to another office and told to go in. I open the door and I'm instantly greeted by a woman sitting at a desk. "Sit." she says. I do obediently. "So you need medicine to help with your anxiety disorder......we can do that." she says. I don't know her name and I'm not going to ask because something tells me I should know. "Here's your prescription, Harper and I will see you Thursday." she says. I leave, keeping my head down. My next appointment is scheduled and I hand the prescription to my mom. She gets it filled and she takes me to school. I start crying. I don't want to go, but she forces me to.
I walk down the hall, keeping my head down. I hesitate outside the classroom. I take a deep breath and I knock. I'm allowed in and I quickly sit down, my anxiety quite high. I try to ignore the horrible thoughts yelling at me, but it's not use. I'm at the mercy of my mind, even though I'm in therapy and soon I'll be on medicine.