I always thought that my family couldn't see through me, would never understand me. On December 28th 2017, my mom saw right through my fake smile. My abusive father had died only two weeks ago. Although he was abusive, I was devastated because I could only remember the good times. On this day, December 28th, 2017, my mom booked me a therapist. Of course I believed I didn't need one and argued with her for hours.
January 3rd, 2018, the new year. It was the day I had to see my new therapist. I always keep dates, I don't know why. All I knew about her is that her name was Debbie. I refused for a good hour when my mom tried to get me into the car, as any other 15 year old kid probably would. She persuaded me, don't ask me how. It was short drive. About fourteen minutes I assumed.
"Damian Ford to Debbie's office, please." I heard the bitchy lady yell from her window. You may assume it was rude to call her "bitchy" but it was only true. I can just see through people. It's almost like eighty percent of them are the same.
I sat in her office in silence for about ten seconds until she walked in. She wasn't what I was expecting for a therapist, which wasn't a bad thing.
She had short, pixie- cut black hair, with red dyed tips. She was dressed with a huge neck holed tee leaving her shoulders uncovered.
She smiled and greeted me with a "Hello! How are you today, Damian?"
I instantly felt a sensation of comfort and said "I'm okay, you?"
Her facial expression changed to a bit more serious as she sat down and folded her hands.
"You can be honest with me, this is a safe place, are you really okay Damian?" I didn't feel like opening up to her just yet. I was so new to this therapist thing. The session progressed and when time was called, she didn't charge. I expected her to ask my mom for cash or credit, but no.
All she said was "Have an amazing day." She looked at me and said again, "come back and see me Tuesday."
Tuesday. January 9th. The day I would return to school. I held a journal and pen in my hand and remembered what she has last said to me.
"If you have anything bottled up at the end of the day, write it in here. No one will look through it, not even me."
YOU ARE READING
Two More Questions
Teen FictionA boy, Damian, doesn't feel accepted in his community and feels alone. He falls into depression and grows distant from his friends and family. He is assigned a journal from his therapist that he must write his thoughts in every day but every time he...
