Therapy Sessions

CHAPTER 1: Discovery. 

I don't know why I'm here. 

That's the truth. 

I can't really say that I know what moved me to come to this side of town, to sit in front of the assessing gaze of this therapist, whose name I did not bother to remember. I’m tempted to leave, but I don’t want to be rude. 

“Good morning,” She says, “I’m Dr. Siya. Would you like to introduce yourself?” That’s a funny question. 

“Freda.” I plan to say as little as possible today. 

“No last name?” 

“No, just Freda.” 

She leans back on her settee, and again gives me that assessing look. I’ve decided that I don’t like it. 

“What brings you here today?” 

“I don’t know.” It’s true, I really don’t.  

“You don’t know?” She doesn’t ask the question like she thinks I'm stupid, which is good, but it makes me feel stupid anyways. 

I just shake my head.  

“Okay.” She sets down her glasses, and shuffles some papers on her table and then she looks up at me again.  

“How do you feel about being here?” 

“I don’t want to be here.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because I don’t feel like I have anything I need to process.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because people come for therapy to like, get help, and process shit right? I don’t need any of that.” 

She smiles at me a little, I figure I've amused her. 

“Again, I ask, why are you here?” 

I sigh. I’ve never been the best at expressing myself with words, but I still tell her again. 

“I don’t know.” She nods 

“Okay.”  

She gets up from her chair, goes round her desk and walks towards the large couch that I've been lounging on, she asks if she can sit, and I agree (I mean it's her office), and she settles at the other end. 

“Tell me about yourself.” 

I can’t help it, I laugh. That’s literally the question that I hate most. ‘Tell me about yourself.’ Like it’s such an easy question. I never know how to answer. The way she looks at me, I decide to try. 

“I’m 19,” I start, it's always easy to start with facts, “I’m supposed to be in school, but I'm not, so I work for my dad, I um, I exercise,” I pause, “Do I have to tell you about my favourite things to do and stuff?” 

“If you want to.” 

“I don’t.” 

I almost expect her to ask me why, but she lets it be. She just settles more comfortably, like she has all the time in the world, which must be nice, because I don’t. 

“When you say you're supposed to be in school, you're talking about the strike.” 

“Yes.” 

“How does that make you feel?” 

I'm about to say that I don’t know again, but she’s giving me a different look, like she knows that that’s what I want to say, but she's expecting me not to, 

“At first, I was happy about it. I won’t lie. It's always cool to have an unexpected break sometimes. I was fraying a bit under the pressure at school, so I was happy. And then I got home, and it was okay for a while, but it’s been 5 months, I'm tired of being around my parents, if I'm being honest, I'm tired of being around my siblings. I feel like my nerves are frayed, trying to avoid conflict, because I can't even have my own personal space. I get depressed because of course my life just seems stuck but also because I’m tired of hiding-” I stop. 

I’ve said too much. 

I don’t want to talk about any of this. 

“What are you hiding?” 

Her voice is gentle. Like she knows she’s touching something delicate. I’m a little panicked. It’s more than I wanted to say. 

I stare at her. She’s waiting for me to give her something. I want to lie and make something up. I’ve been doing it for some time now. She might be a therapist, but she’s no God. I could be done with this in seconds. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t say that I'm hiding. I feel like I have no identity. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I want, but I know that my family’s beliefs might not be my own, and it makes me feel isolated, like I don’t belong. It makes me tired and angry and depressed, because It's like I can't even make up my mind. I want to pretend that I agree with everything I'm being told and then I want to damn it all and figure out what it is that I want and what it is that I believe, but then I get scared because that could mean distance from the people that should be my home and I'm just, I’m tired of this in-between.”  

I feel like I've run a marathon. My heart is racing, my hands are shaking. I’ve been carrying all this inside me, and perhaps it doesn’t seem like much, but it’s like a burden I've carried with me, and I don’t feel any better for having said all of it out loud. I’ve barely even scratched the surface. 

I look up from my joined hands and I look at Dr. Siya. She’s been waiting for me to do that it seems. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I’m here because I need help. I’m tired of pretending, and I’m tired of wandering. I want to figure out what I want and I want to figure out what I believe in, regardless of family, regardless of what other people say and regardless of what other people might think of my opinions. I just want to know who I am, when no one is watching.” 

“Good.” 

“And I can’t say for sure, but I think I might be suffering from depression.” I've said this before, but I feel like it needs saying again. I glance away from her when I say this, looking at the time. it's been 2 hours. It’s time for me to go. 

She sees me looking at the time. 

I realize that the reason why I was evading in the beginning was because I wanted her to bring it out of me. I wanted to know if I could trust her with my secrets. I get up and walk towards the door. 

“I’ll be seeing you again.” 

I nod. 

Maybe.