The Big Bikini Bottom Scandal

Chapter 7: Therapy

I sat in the therapist's office, fidgeting nervously as I waited for her to arrive. I had been struggling with depression for a while now, and my parents had insisted that I see someone about it. I was skeptical at first, but I was willing to try anything to feel better.

The therapist finally arrived, and she introduced herself as Dr. Jones. She was a middle-aged woman with a kind smile and a reassuring demeanor. She asked me how I was feeling, and I tried to put on a brave face.

"I'm okay, I guess," I said. "It's just hard sometimes, you know?"

Dr. Jones nodded sympathetically. "I know," she said. "But that's why you're here. To talk about those hard times and figure out ways to cope with them."

I nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. Maybe this would help after all.

We spent the next hour talking about my life, my struggles, and my feelings. Dr. Jones listened intently, nodding and making the occasional note on her pad. She asked me questions and offered suggestions, and I felt like she really cared about me.

But as the session went on, I started to notice something strange. Dr. Jones's questions and suggestions started to take on a more personal tone. She asked me about my relationships, my friendships, and my family. She asked me about my hobbies and my interests. She asked me about my dreams and my fears.

At first, I thought it was just part of the therapy. But as the session went on, I started to feel like Dr. Jones was trying to dig deeper and deeper into my life, like she was trying to uncover something.

And then, she said something that made me realize what was going on.

"Sarah, I think you have a lot of potential," she said. "But you're holding yourself back. You're letting your depression and your anxiety control you. You need to break free from that, and I can help you."

I felt a surge of anger and fear. This wasn't therapy. This was manipulation. Dr. Jones was trying to groom me, to make me dependent on her, to control me.

I stood up and grabbed my bag. "I'm sorry, Dr. Jones," I said. "But I don't think this is the right fit for me. I need to find someone else to talk to."

Dr. Jones's smile faltered. "Sarah, please," she said. "Don't go. I can help you. I promise."

But I didn't believe her. I turned and walked out of the office, vowing never to come back. I knew that I needed help, but I also knew that I needed to find the right person to help me. Someone who wouldn't try to take advantage of me, manipulate me, or control me.

I was still struggling with depression, but I was determined to find a way to cope with it on my own terms. I was in control of my own life, and I wasn't going to let anyone take that away from me.