One day I'll have it all. // Williamson

Therapy

The silence was so loud.

My right foot incessantly tapping on the floor was the only sound around.

I took a look at my right. A few posters about mental health I was too lazy to read. Three plastic chairs. And a strelizia. Or whatever the hell that plant was called.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the plastic chair creaking beneath me as I tried to distract myself from the oppressive stillness around me.

I took a look at my left. A small table, cluttered with magazines and brochures. A large window stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view of the bustling street below.

A clock hung on the wall, its steady tick-tock filling the air with a rhythmic cadence that only seemed to amplify the silence. Each passing second felt like an eternity, stretching out into infinity as I waited for my name to be called.

My gaze drifted to the door, willing it to open and break the suffocating quiet of the room. But it remained firmly shut, taunting me with its immobility.

I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my hair as I tried to quell the rising anxiety within me. This wasn't where I wanted to be, but it was where I needed to be.

I glanced down at my hands, fidgeting nervously in my lap as I tried to calm my racing thoughts. How much would I give to have a football at my feet right now.

To have someone sit next to me. Anyone.

I even caught myself wishing for one of those annoyingly chirpy receptionists to burst into the room with a bright smile and a perky voice. anything to fill the void of this oppressive silence.

I also knew that as soon as the door would open, and my name would be called, I would give anything to go back to that silent room.

My thoughts were louder than I ever would have imagined possible.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, breaking the suffocating silence with a burst of noise and activity. My name echoed through the room, pulling me out of my reverie and propelling me towards whatever lay beyond that threshold.

With a steadying breath, I rose to my feet. Somehow, I didn't let myself flee out of the building. Maybe because I knew Leah would be disappointed if I did. Maybe because I knew I would be mad at myself if I did.

I walked towards the door, my eyes drifting to the man with whom I was going to share way too much about my life.

He seemed to be in his thirties. He had a pair of rectangle glasses, a 3-day-old beard, and what I assumed to be a welcoming smile.

I followed him into his office. And he closed the door behind me. The door to my freedom. I settled into the chair across from Dr. Cox.

His name was funny. I thought.

His office was very therapist-like. Grey carpet, a few plants at the corners of the room, and white and grey walls. Two rather comfortable chairs. A bookshelf, with a picture of him, and most certainly his wife. A coffee table with a pile of papers on it. And tall floor lamp.

He greeted me with a warm smile, His demeanor was reassuring, and for a brief moment, I felt a glimmer of hope flicker within me.

"So, Valentina," he began, his voice gentle yet probing, reading my name off a piece of paper scattered on his coffee table. "What brings you here today?"

I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. How could I even begin to explain the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within me? The fear, the uncertainty, the self-destructive habits that had compelled my girlfriend to drive me here.