Right Place, Right Time - Rhea Ripley

Chapter 11 - Therapy

TW: Suicidal Thoughts

I remember the first time I heard about this place. It was a dream, but not just any dream. It was vivid, terrifying, and left me with an uneasy feeling in my gut. In the dream, I found myself standing in a long, dark corridor. The walls were made of cold, gray stone, and the air was thick with a sense of foreboding. As I walked further down the hall, I could hear distant screams and cries echoing through the darkness. The sound was haunting, and it seemed to pierce right through me. Suddenly, a figure appeared at the end of the hall, beckoning me forward with its bony fingers. It looked like a skeleton, but its eyes were glowing red, and its mouth was twisted into a macabre grin.

I shot up out of bed, my heart pounding. My eyes darted around the familiar surroundings of my room, trying to shake off the lingering fear from the dream. It was then that I remembered: today was the day I'd finally go and talk to a therapist. Demi, was there to help me.

The day I told everyone I'd be going to see a therapist was both terrifying and liberating. I was relieved that I finally had the courage to take that first step towards getting help, but at the same time, I was filled with anxiety about what lay ahead. Demi had been nothing but supportive, promising me that she would be there every step of the way. Alyssa and I had a heart to heart discussion, and she shared some of her experiences in therapy when she was younger. It helped to know that she had made it through and come out the other side stronger. My dad, too, had also been in the same boat when I was younger, and he assured me that it would get better.

As we drove to the therapist's office, I could feel my heart racing and my palms sweating. Demi gave my hand a squeeze, offering reassurance. The waiting room was brightly lit, and there were a few other people sitting around, some alone, some with their family members. It was weird to think that we were all there for the same reason, but it also made me feel a little less alone. I had to pick between Alyssa and Demi as my emotional support, Alyssa though, reassured me that I could pick Demi as she was my roommate and had seen the true extent of how deep my feelings were.

The therapist, Dr. Wilson, was an older woman with a kind face and a warm smile. She led me into her office and offered me a seat on the comfortable couch. Demi took a seat next to me, and Dr. Wilson sat across from us in a chair. "So," she began, "you must be going through a difficult time. I'm here to help you work through whatever it is that's bothering you." I took a deep breath and began to talk.

At first, the words came slowly, but as I continued, I found myself opening up to Dr. Wilson more and more. I told her about the dreams, the constant fear, the fire, and the dark thoughts that plagued my mind. I told her about my family and my friends, and how much they meant to me. I told her about my love for going to the gym and how it was one of the few things that kept me going. And I told her about my concerns for my future, my fears that I might not be able to cope with the stress.

Demi chimed in occasionally, adding her own perspective and sharing her own experiences with Dr. Wilson. It was comforting to know that she was there for me, and that she understood what I was going through. Throughout the session, Dr. Wilson listened intently, nodding her head and offering gentle guidance. She encouraged me to express my feelings openly and honestly, and she reassured me that I was not alone in this struggle.

The one question I was not hoping she would bring up was, "So, in the past 2 weeks, have you felt the urge to harm yourself in any way, shape, or form?" I hesitated, my heart racing, Demi's expression dropping, she wasn't ready for my answer,

"Yes.." I gulped, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in my chest. Demi's expression turned to one of concern and worry, as if I had just confirmed her worst fears. I couldn't meet her eyes, instead focusing on the floor. I tried to explain that it wasn't a constant thought, that it was more like a fleeting idea when I was particularly low or stressed, but even as I spoke the words, they felt hollow. Dr. Wilson leaned forward, her expression gentle but firm.

"I understand that this must be very difficult for you," she said. "But it's important that you know that you're not alone in feeling this way. Suicidal thoughts are a symptom of depression, and they can be treated. With the right support and therapy, you can learn to manage these feelings and find your way back to a place of happiness and peace." She glanced at Demi, who nodded in agreement.

Demi reached over and took my hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm here for you, no matter what," she said. "We'll get through this together." I squeezed her hand back, grateful for her support.

The next few weeks were difficult, to say the least. I started on a low dose of anti-depressants, and Dr. Wilson continued to see me for regular therapy sessions. At first, the medication made me feel numb, as if I was floating outside of my own body. But as time went on, the fog began to lift. I found myself sleeping better, and I didn't have the same constant feeling of dread hanging over me.

Demi was there for me every step of the way. She made sure I took my medication on time, and she encouraged me to go to my therapy appointments. We spent more time together, talking about our feelings and our dreams for the future. We even started going to the gym more together, which helped us both to stay positive and focused.

"How have you been feeling since you started therapy?" Demi asked, her voice soft and concerned as we walked side by side through the park. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and the birds sang sweetly in the trees. It was a beautiful day, and yet I couldn't help but feel a weight pressing down on my chest.

I took a deep breath and tried to articulate my thoughts. "I feel...better, I guess? But at the same time, I don't know. It's like I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel." I shrugged, looking down at my feet. "The medication makes me feel numb sometimes, like I'm just going through the motions."

Demi nodded, understanding. "That's normal, I think. It takes time to find the right balance with medication. And you know, it's okay to feel a little confused about your emotions right now. Just give yourself time to adjust." She paused, then added, "You've come a long way since we first started talking about this, you know."

I glanced over at her, surprised. It was true. I had been so deep in the darkness that I couldn't even see a glimmer of hope. But now, thanks to Dr. Wilson, Demi, and all my friends and family, I felt like there was a light shining just beyond the horizon. "Yeah," I said softly. "I guess I have."

We continued walking in silence for a while, the sound of our shoes against the gravel filling the air. I tried to focus on the feeling of the sun on my skin, the soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, but this dark feeling hadn't fully left yet. It still had its time-worn, cold grip on me. I wondered if it ever would go away.