To The Moon and Back

𝟏𝟏 | 𝐢𝐜𝐞

I C E

A term used to describe water or a number of gases such as methane or ammonia when in a solid-state.

T O  T H E
M O O N & B A C K

THE WALLS OF Doctor Rinn's office are a navy-blue resembling the walls of my bedroom that my father and I had painted together when I was too young to barely be able to remember. Her office belongs to one of many rooms in this tall, old building. It has a very industrial feel to it, with one of the four walls being asphalt and the way that the light fixtures hung from long black cords.

Her chair was this obnoxious turquoise colour that held a mustard yellow cushion, the feet of the chair gold. Something about the amounts of colour just beneath her ass alone made me feel overwhelmed and that was the last emotion I wanted to experience along with multiple others. Anger, depression, betrayal, fear, embarrassment. I felt all of those things and none of them at the exact same time.

I sat on one side of the black leather couch, toying with one of the silver rings on my fingers, avoiding eye-contact at all costs. I have seen a therapist before, which is much like a psychologist—like Doctor Rinn, but it never helped. I don't want to be here.

"Breathe, Atlas." she tells me and I resist the urge to snap at her as I tense my jaw, gazing over at the open window which gives a perfect view of the back of another building. Beautiful. "This is just your first session. I don't expect anything huge of you, just for you to answer a few questions and maybe speak a little about yourself. But only if you are comfortable, of course."

I shake my head. "I don't like speaking about myself." are my first words to her.

I feel her emerald green eyes burning into me as I distract myself by looking over at the large aquarium near the door which I will most likely be exiting with an obnoxious slam by the time that hideous clock above it strikes two. 

A range of tropical fish swim the length of the transparent tank. It almost looks unreal because of how clean it is. Clownfish and angelfish swim in and out of the holes of the large piece of driftwood. A faint hum vibrates throughout the room as the filter attached to the glass projects water into the tank. A cool-toned light illuminates the ecosystem beneath it, enhancing the natural green that the plants already withhold.

I used to have fish once. His name was Comet and he was just a plain little goldfish but he was my first pet after my dog Grey passed. He lived a long life in that tank which sat on the wooden surface of my desk, but then I lost myself and with that, I lost my ability to exist, therefore as my old self slipped through my fingertips, my fish did too. I found myself unable to walk out of the hall and into the toilet, so how on earth could I do something as simple as remember to feed my fish when I can barely feed myself?

"Me either." she admits. "Well, can you tell me what you are feeling right now at least?"

Forcing a faux laugh, I peer up at her momentarily. "You're asking someone with bipolar how they feel?" 

Doctor Rinn sighs. "What I mean is," she pauses, taking a brief moment to gather her words properly, unlike she had before. "I would like you to tell me what you are thinking about right now. What thoughts resurface in your brain?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

"Every word that you speak is confidential. Not a single thing you tell me will leave this room." she assures me, but I know that. If she so much as uttered my name to a colleague, my mother would sue her to the point of bankruptcy.

Trust is a slim factor but not the largest one. The main factor as to why my lips are glued shut is merely because I have a hard time wording the thoughts that race through my head, not because I am stupendous, but because my thoughts are rather moving at one hundred kilometres per hour, or there are none at all.