Oh my god, yes. Completely. Every single time.

Waiting rooms always make me feel like I’m going to explode.

For some reason, I’m always eager to go to therapy a few days prior to my actual appointment. Then when that Monday rolls around, I end up dreading it. I don’t know why. Because it’s never as bad as I tell myself it’s going to be. Not even close. Maybe I just associate it with a few bad memories. A few heavy conversations that were enough to make my heart pound every time I set foot into the waiting room. I know she’ll want to pick up where we left off last time. I don’t want to. I told her I wanted to leave it all in the past. But in therapy, that’s usually not an option. Sigh.

Well, I don’t ”love” her. That would be kind of inappropriate. But I do really like her. She’s the only person I’ve confided in about most of my issues, so I guess a bond naturally forms. I just appreciate her because she listens to me and understands me. She knows when to speak to me like I’m a regular person and when to speak to me more like I’m a patient - like I’m “fragile”, I guess you could say.

She’s my therapist.

I don’t have any pictures of her, sorry. But to give you an idea of what she looks like - she has shoulder-length, straight brown hair. She has pretty fair skin and round cheeks. She’s about 5’5” by my estimate. She has a shy smile and innocent brown eyes.

I told her no. Anything that might’ve been an issue before has resolved itself even if I hadn’t talked about it with her. She asked me for an example. I told her about the night my dad’s friend came into my room. She asked me questions. I answered honestly. She said she wanted me to consider telling my parents because she felt obligated to let them know. I don’t want them to. I told her that. I want to keep it in the past where it belongs. “I can tell by your body language and even your tone of voice that you’re uncomfortable,” she said to me when the session was almost over. She asked me how I felt. “Fine.” “No, I need a feeling. Scared, sad, happy, angry.” “I like ‘fine’.” She smiled. Because she knows that’s how I am and how I’ve always been. Unwilling to tell people how I truly feel.