A Trip To The Therapist's Office (To Be Added Onto)

A trip to a therapist's office brings up uncomfortable memories that makes David feel reluctant.

   I shifted uncomfortable against the leather couch of Dr. Langston's office and the ticking of the second hand of the clock upon the wall did not help my restlessness. Under any normal circumstance, I would've just stared outside and picture myself outside of this very awkward room but Dr. Langston picked up on this last week and seemed to cover up the only window with a rough looking brown drape.

   “So where did we leave things last week?” Langston came over from his desk in the far corner of the room and sat down in a leather chair that seemed to be part of the same set as the drapes, along with this horrid, noisemaker of a couch. He looked down at his notepad and made this clicking noise on the roof of his mouth that he seemed to do when he was thinking. And god, was it annoying. “Ah! Here we are. We were exploring some of your memories to see if we could find a relation between that and your fear of commitment and emotional attachment.” He looked up from his notepad and I could see his judgmental, blue eyes behind those small, reading glasses just sizing me up. What was worse was that British accent he had, it made him sound as though he had some intellectual superiority thing going on, like he already knew what was wrong but he was just playing some sick game. I could only imagine what a British person would think of an American accent in England.

   “Uh, yeah. I guess.” Another few moments of awkward silence which I was beginning to suspect was a psychological torture mechanism that therapists love to use. The sound of the clock ticking seemed to echo throughout the room and grow louder with each tick. Would someone, please, turn down the volume on that clock? Did that clock even have volume control? What was the name of that show that had Will Smith in it in the 90s? I focused on everything, anything, I could to block out what was going on.

   “David.” I blinked, forced to come back to the conversation I wasn't really having.

   “Yea?” I cleared my voice and tried to readjusted how I was sitting for what felt like the tenth time in the past.. five minutes? Good god, why couldn't that clock tick faster?

   “Your eyes glazed over, you still with me, buddy?” Buddy? Huh.

   “Yeah, I'm following you.”

   “Then let's get started.”

   I readjusted myself so that I was lying on my back and staring up at the plain ceiling. I found that when confronting memories I didn't want to have anything to do with, not looking at the therapist helped.

   “Great. So last week we were talking about your mother abandoning you and her mental illness. But this week I want to hear why you think you have these problems.” He clicked a pen and rested the tip on the notepad, ready to write down every ill conceived idea I could come up with.

   When he said he wanted to hear what I thought about my own issues, I hesitated. A lot of memories and excuses came flooding into my head through images and through words. It was overwhelming and I didn't know where to begin. Honestly, no one asked what I thought of my own problems. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my quickening heart and racing mind. Only to fail.

   I was seeing images that were familiar yet foreign to me run across my mind and then leave again. I was conflicted. Because I feared yet was curious by these oddly familiar images, which I can only presume was either memories or me just playing a fantasy from an action film with me in it.

   “I don't know.” I answered him, after I opened my eyes,which was followed by another long moment of silence. I could feel his eyes dissecting every small move I made and over analyzing every move I didn't make.

   “Nothing comes to mind to why you're so damaged?”

   “No.” I was quick to answer. Maybe a little too quick because I saw his eyes narrow briefly and then the sound of his pen scratching against his notepad.

   “You know, Mr. Chase, that holding everything inside is preventing you from experiencing the happiness and love you so desperately want, right?” I gave the man an inch and he took the entire football field with that.

   “Yeah, I know.” I heaved a sigh and sat up. “Look, the idea that I'm paying a person to listen to me complain and then judge me based on what I complain about just doesn't sit well with me.” Another few seconds of him writing on his notepad. The noise of the pen seemed almost ear splitting.

   “It's true,” he continued, “that you pay me to listen to your problems. It's also true that anyone can listen to your problems. But my training gives me a unique perspective on how you can fix them and get better. Can your friends do that? Do their words of comfort help?”

   “No.”

   “I'm here for comfort, of course. But I'm also here to give you a solution to those problems IF you are willing to meet me halfway, David. Can you do that? Can you let go of your pride and defenses long enough to let me see how bad it really is inside so that I can help you put the pieces back together?”

   What followed was, hands down, the slowest and most awkward seconds that could ever pass in my life. I didn't really know how to reply to what he said. He had a very valid point and every part of me wanted to say 'yes' but something inside of me just clung onto my words. Clinging to everything inside. All the pain and sadness.

   “It's what makes me feel special and unique.” I blurted out without realizing it.

   “What does?” Dr. Langston looked perplexed. First time I've ever seen him caught off guard.

   “The pain and sadness, I guess.” I looked down at the floor, almost ashamed of saying that. Of course, he started to write on his notepad again; but it seemed like he did so more enthusiastically than before.

   “Good, David! Now we're getting somewhere. So you're saying that you're afraid to open up because it makes you feel unique in someway?” I could feel his eyes piercing my skin, again.

   “That's part of the reason.” I found it frustratingly difficult to find the right words to explain it. “It makes me feel unique but I think that if any woman, or even person, saw the real me then they'd hate me, I guess. Not hate me but think me a monster.” I started tapping my fingers on the leather recliner nervously as Dr. Langston made more notes.

   “Are you a monster?” I could see that he leaned forward slightly.

   “I don't know. All I know is that I've been called a 'creep' and a 'monster' for so many years that I've started to think that perhaps I am.” I replied.

   “Tell me, David, what did you see when you closed your eyes.” His pen was resting on the notepad and not standing at attention like it usually was.

   “Everything.”

Reviews

[J.Paddy]

I have read quite a few pieces on this site and have come to the conclusion that you are one of the best writers of dialog. Hands down. I don't know if you were always this good but you are now. And I expect you can get even better with each new pice you write. Afterall the best writers, write every single day.
You accomplished exactly what a "Chapter One" requires. It needs a hook to grab the reader's attention ans a hint to what the rest of the book is about. Yes, indeed, with a few tweaks, "A Trip To The Therapist's Office" is surely on the way into becoming a page turner. Well done.

[Ian Faraway]

Thank you very much for your kind words, sir. I started writing in 7th grade with Freewrite Fridays and my teacher told me I had great dialog then, also. I don't really know why. Anyways, thank you. I just have to figure out the rest of this and find the errors that need to be tweaks. Thank you again for your encouraging feedback!

[audrie]

I liked the part where the therapist, because of his British accent made you feel that he was superior - That's so true. It's a therapists job to present the patient with the proper tools so that they may solve their own problems. If the therapist does all of the solving then what happens when problems return? I think, speaking from experience, that putting your pride aside is the most important thing. There have been times that I was in therapy and I was so concerned about what the therapist thought of me that it defeated the purpose. I thought that this story depicted the relationship between therapist and patient very realistically. I enjoyed reading it. Keep up the great work!

[Ian Faraway]

I'm glad you thought it was realistic. I was in therapy (for a short while) a few years ago. But damn me and my pride ;)

[audrie]

Yes, pride is a b***h!

[Ian Faraway]

Pride? Me? Nah. I'm the closest to perfect there can be. ;)

[audrie]

ha ha! have a wonderful day!

[heba]

my first article to read here and what a good start it is! Great piece, Ian. Keep up the good work :)

[Ian Faraway]

Thank you, heba. I'm flattered that you read my article first. -Ian

[shallimarRose]

Well well.. isn't this a pleasant surprise. Your writing is so much better then what I use to read here over a year ago (which was also good)... This is very interesting to me as I am about to start therapy for the very first time in my entire life and scared to death.. Great piece here Ian..

OK let's try this again... lol the word was Which not wish... Writing was good then also.. ;)

[Ian Faraway]

Too late. Damage done. :P I know what you meant, I was just joking with you.

[shallimarRose]

ok... good, I would never put someone's writing down..