The silence was so loud.
My right foot incessantly tapping on the floor was the only sound around.
I took a look at my right. A few posters about mental health I was too lazy to read. Three plastic chairs. And a strelizia. Or whatever the hell that plant was called.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the plastic chair creaking beneath me as I tried to distract myself from the oppressive stillness around me.
I took a look at my left. A small table, cluttered with magazines and brochures. A large window stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view of the bustling street below.
A clock hung on the wall, its steady tick-tock filling the air with a rhythmic cadence that only seemed to amplify the silence. Each passing second felt like an eternity, stretching out into infinity as I waited for my name to be called.
My gaze drifted to the door, willing it to open and break the suffocating quiet of the room. But it remained firmly shut, taunting me with its immobility.
I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my hair as I tried to quell the rising anxiety within me. This wasn't where I wanted to be, but it was where I needed to be.
I glanced down at my hands, fidgeting nervously in my lap as I tried to calm my racing thoughts. How much would I give to have a football at my feet right now.
To have someone sit next to me. Anyone.
I even caught myself wishing for one of those annoyingly chirpy receptionists to burst into the room with a bright smile and a perky voice. anything to fill the void of this oppressive silence.
I also knew that as soon as the door would open, and my name would be called, I would give anything to go back to that silent room.
My thoughts were louder than I ever would have imagined possible.
And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, breaking the suffocating silence with a burst of noise and activity. My name echoed through the room, pulling me out of my reverie and propelling me towards whatever lay beyond that threshold.
With a steadying breath, I rose to my feet. Somehow, I didn't let myself flee out of the building. Maybe because I knew Leah would be disappointed if I did. Maybe because I knew I would be mad at myself if I did.
I walked towards the door, my eyes drifting to the man with whom I was going to share way too much about my life.
He seemed to be in his thirties. He had a pair of rectangle glasses, a 3-day-old beard, and what I assumed to be a welcoming smile.
I followed him into his office. And he closed the door behind me. The door to my freedom. I settled into the chair across from Dr. Cox.
His name was funny. I thought.
His office was very therapist-like. Grey carpet, a few plants at the corners of the room, and white and grey walls. Two rather comfortable chairs. A bookshelf, with a picture of him, and most certainly his wife. A coffee table with a pile of papers on it. And tall floor lamp.
He greeted me with a warm smile, His demeanor was reassuring, and for a brief moment, I felt a glimmer of hope flicker within me.
"So, Valentina," he began, his voice gentle yet probing, reading my name off a piece of paper scattered on his coffee table. "What brings you here today?"
I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. How could I even begin to explain the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within me? The fear, the uncertainty, the self-destructive habits that had compelled my girlfriend to drive me here.
"I... I guess I'm here because I'm struggling," I admitted softly, my voice low and filled with shame. "I'm struggling with... with a lot of things. With anxiety, with self-doubt, with... with feeling like I'm not enough."
Dr. Cox listened attentively as I poured out my heart, his expression a mix of empathy and understanding. He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he absorbed every word I said.
"It sounds like you're going through a lot," he remarked gently. "Did you decide to come here on your own terms?"
I raised an eyebrow at his question. "Does it matter?"
Dr. Cox paused for a moment, his gaze steady as he considered my question. "It matters in the sense that understanding your motivation for seeking help can provide valuable insight into your current state of mind," he explained calmly.
I nodded, acknowledging his point with a thoughtful frown. "Yeah, I guess I decided to come here on my own," I replied with a shrug, trying to downplay the significance of my decision. "But it's not like I had much of a choice. My... my girlfriend practically dragged me here kicking and screaming. But... I agreed, I mean."
Dr. Cox's lips quirked into a small smile at my admission. "It sounds like you have someone who cares about you a great deal," he remarked, his tone gentle yet probing. "What do you think prompted your girlfriend to bring you here?"
I hesitated for a moment, grappling with the weight of Dr. Cox's question. Why had Leah brought me here? Was it out of genuine concern for my well-being, or was it because she couldn't bear to see me struggling any longer?
For a moment, I lost my focus. My eyes derived from the therapist's focus on my pair of sneakers. I had to wash my Jordans. They had a bunch of dry dirt patched on it. I wondered where it came from. Maybe from the last time I had played football in the rain. No. I had washed them since. It must have been yesterday when I went to the park with Drayton and Myle. Yeah, that must be it.
"Valentina?" The therapist's voice brought me back to the present, and I looked up to meet his gaze, my thoughts still scattered and disjointed.
"Sorry, what was the question again?" I asked, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment at my momentary lapse in attention.
Dr. Cox's smile was patient and understanding as he repeated his question. "I was asking what you think prompted your girlfriend to bring you here," he clarified gently, his tone encouraging.
I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts as I searched for the right words to explain. "I think... I think Leah brought me here because she's worried about me," I admitted softly, my voice tinged with vulnerability. "Because she sees how much I'm struggling, even when I try to hide it from her. And she just wants to help me, even if I don't know how to help myself. Because sometimes I-I hurt myself, and sometimes I don't even realize I'm doing it until she points it out to me."
Dr. Cox nodded, his expression empathetic as he listened to my words. "It sounds like Leah cares about you a great deal," he remarked softly, his voice filled with understanding. "And it's clear that you care about her too, otherwise you wouldn't be here, seeking help for yourself."
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat as I thought about Leah and the depth of her love and concern for me. "Yeah, she means a lot," I admitted quietly. "I don't know where I'd be without her."
Dr. Cox offered me a reassuring smile, his eyes warm and compassionate. "It's okay to lean on her for support, Valentina," he said gently. "But it's also important to remember that you have the strength and resilience within yourself to overcome these challenges. You're not alone in this journey, but the most important part of it, is you against yourself."
I knew he was going to say something like that. Because it was what they were all saying. In movies and TV shows. It had always sounded like bullshit to me. But honestly, the whole therapy thing just wasn't for me. I knew I needed it, like everyone else. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all just a charade, a futile attempt to make sense of the chaos within me. Therapy felt like grasping at straws, hoping to find some semblance of understanding in a world that seemed determined to keep me lost in darkness.
"What are you thinking, right now?" The therapist asked me, suddenly. I realized I had lost track of the conversation again.
I blinked, startled out of my reverie by Dr. Cox's question. What was I thinking? The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure. My mind felt like a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions, swirling chaotically within me.
"I... I guess I'm just... I don't know," I replied honestly, my voice hesitant as I struggled to articulate the tangled web of thoughts and feelings racing through my mind. "I'm just... trying to make sense of everything, I guess. Trying to figure out why I feel the way I do, and what I can do to... to make it better. To be better for the people that care about me."
Dr. Cox nodded, his expression understanding as he absorbed my words. "So you're not interested in feeling better for yourself?"
I hesitated at his question, my thoughts swirling as I grappled with the weight of his words. Was I interested in feeling better for myself? The truth was, I knew I didn't. Feeling better was a side bonus. What I wanted was for everyone else to be happy, to not have to worry about me anymore. I wanted to lose a football game, and not have Leah or Katie or anyone else worry about my reaction. I wanted to be able to handle my emotions without spiraling out of control, without hurting myself or pushing away the people who cared about me. But deep down, I wasn't sure if I believed that was possible.
"No, not really," I admitted.
Dr. Cox's brow furrowed slightly at my admission, his gaze searching as he considered my response. "It's understandable to want to alleviate the worry and concern of those you care about," he remarked thoughtfully. "But it's also important to prioritize your own well-being and happiness. You deserve to feel better for yourself, Valentina. You deserve to find peace and contentment within yourself, independent of others' expectations or perceptions."
"No, see that's what I-" I started, before stopping myself. What I was going to say was probably stupid and wrong.
"Yes? What were you going to say?" Dr.Cox asked me. "Nothing you say here will be judged or dismissed, Valentina. This is a safe space for you to express yourself and explore your thoughts and feelings."
I hesitated for a moment, feeling a rush of uncertainty wash over me.
"I- I was going to say that... you tell me I deserve to feel better. But you don't even know me, do you? Maybe I'm a terrible person. Maybe everything I'm going to tell you in those sessions is going to be lies. Maybe I don't deserve to feel better. And you wouldn't even know, because you don't know me. You know what I'm willing to tell you about me. And that could be complete lies all the way through. I could be pretending to be someone I'm not, putting on a facade to make myself seem better than I really am. I could pretend I'm a... a cashier at a bowling alley for all I know, and you wouldn't know shit about it."
Dr. Cox listened to my words carefully, his expression thoughtful as he absorbed the weight of my doubts and insecurities. For a moment, there was silence as he considered his response, his gaze unwavering as he met mine with a sense of understanding.
"I hear your concerns, Valentina," he said softly, his voice gentle yet firm. "And I want you to know that it's okay to feel uncertain or skeptical about this process. It's normal to question whether or not you deserve to feel better, especially when faced with the complexities of your own thoughts and emotions. But I want you to know that regardless of what you may believe about yourself, you are worthy of healing and growth. You are worthy of finding peace and happiness within yourself, no matter what you may have done or experienced in the past. And while it's true that I may not know every detail about your life, I am here to support you and guide you through this journey of self-discovery and healing. Together, we can work towards a future where you feel empowered and fulfilled, where you can embrace your true self without fear or hesitation."
For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I was deserving of happiness and healing. That maybe, with the help of therapy and the support of those around me, I could overcome the darkness that had consumed me for so long.
"See, I like to see my job like the one of an investigator. Even if you lie to me, and tell me that you're a cashier at a bowling alley, it's not about whether or not I know the specifics of your life. It's about understanding the underlying emotions and experiences that have shaped who you are today," Dr. Cox continued, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Whether you're a professional footballer or a cashier, your struggles and your pain are valid, and they deserve to be acknowledged and addressed. And while it may take time and effort to unravel the complexities of your innermost thoughts and feelings, I believe that together, we can work towards a future where you feel seen, heard, and understood."
"How do you- how do you know I'm a professional footballer?"
Dr. Cox's lips quirked into a small smile at my question. "I told you. I'm an investigator." He said, a light chuckle escaping his lips.
"No, but seriously, how do you know?"
The therapist smiled, leaning back into his chair. "First, the way you're dressed. You're wearing a tracksuit with the Arsenal logo on it. But you could just be a fan of the club. I also noticed that you tend to always let your left leg rest, while your right one taps against the floor, or gets bent and unbent. I also know ACLs are a very common injury in football. Chances are you tore your ligament a few years back, and are still cautious about your leg. Also, your hands aren't damaged. They look very well maintained, which most likely means you're not using them in the sport you're playing. Then, there's your body language. The way you carry yourself, the subtle tension in your shoulders, and the guarded expression in your eyes. It all points to someone who is used to being in the spotlight, someone who is accustomed to putting on a brave face even when they're struggling on the inside. Now I could be wrong, you could be a professional athlete in a different sport, or you could have no connection to sports at all. But based on the evidence I've observed, it seems likely that you're a professional footballer."
I blinked in surprise at Dr. Cox's astute observations, feeling a sense of awe and admiration for his keen insight.
"Damn," I murmured, genuinely impressed by his deduction skills. "You're good."
Dr. Cox's smile widened at my reaction, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Thank you, Valentina," he replied. "I've had a lot of practice." He said. "I'm sure you're very good at what you're doing, too."
I kept myself from denying his words. I was good, but not enough. I needed to work, and compared to the rest of my squad, I fell way behind, on most points.
Dr. Cox's words echoed in my mind as I sat there, grappling with the weight of his observations and the implications they held for my own sense of self-worth. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was good at what I did, but it wasn't enough. Not for me, not for Leah, not for anyone.
For the rest of the session, the therapist asked me various questions about myself, not digging very deep. He asked about my habits, asked if I was living alone, and if I slept well at night. He also asked me about my accent, and when I explained to him that I was American, he asked if my transition from Los Angeles to London had gone smoothly, if I missed home, if I felt homesick.
I answered his questions as honestly as I could, trying my best to open up and allow myself to be vulnerable in a way I hadn't before.
As the session drew to a close, Dr. Cox offered me a reassuring smile, his eyes warm and compassionate. "Thank you for sharing with me today, Valentina," he said softly. "I know it's not easy to open up about these things, but I want you to know that I'm here to support you every step of the way. And while therapy may not always feel comfortable or easy, I believe that together, we can work towards a future where you feel empowered and fulfilled, where you can embrace your true self and live a life that brings you joy and contentment."
He accompanied me back to the waiting room, where Leah was sitting, waiting for me. As soon as I walked in, Leah stood up, her eyes searching mine to see if I was okay.
Dr.Cox greeted her, and then, surprisingly, asked her if she had a few minutes to spare.
I didn't really like the idea of it all, but Leah agreed to come inside his office, while I sat down in the waiting room.
As I sat in the waiting room, my mind raced with a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension at the idea of Leah speaking with Dr. Cox alone. What if she said something that I didn't want her to? What if she revealed things about me that I wasn't ready to share? I trusted Leah. With all my being. That didn't stop my thoughts from consuming me.
Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as I waited for Leah to emerge from the office, my nerves fraying with each passing second. But eventually, the door opened, and Leah stepped out, her expression thoughtful as she made her way over to me.
"Come on, let's go home." She told me, her voice somehow not betraying anything about the conversation she had just had.
As we made our way out of the building and back to the car, I tried to find even a slight glimpse of emotion in her eyes. Nothing.
I climbed into the passenger seat while she turned on the engine. Still not a word coming from her.
I observed her hands on the wheel. I had no idea about anything that had happened. But I knew she wasn't okay.