Beyond The Canvas

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 - 𝐓𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

The school day seemed to drag on forever, each passing minute filled with the weight of expectations and the pressure to excel. As the final bell rang, signaling the end of another grueling day, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief mingled with exhaustion.

Dragging my feet down the crowded hallways, I caught snippets of conversation from my classmates, each one a reminder of the world spinning around me. Some spoke of upcoming exams, others of weekend plans, but all I could think about was the mountain of work waiting for me at home.

I slipped into Dr. Philips' office, the familiar scent of lavender mingling with the soft hum of the air conditioner. Dr. Philips greeted me with a warm smile, her eyes kind and understanding.

"So, Theodore, how have you been since our last session?" she asked, her voice gentle yet probing.

I sighed, sinking into the chair across from her. 

"Busy," 

I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. 

"It feels like I'm constantly trying to keep up, but no matter how hard I try, it's never enough."

Dr. Philips nodded, her expression sympathetic. 

"It sounds like you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself," she observed, her gaze unwavering.

I shrugged, the weight of my own expectations pressing against me. 

"I guess I just want to do well, you know? To prove that I'm worth something."

Dr. Philips leaned forward, her eyes filled with compassion. 

"And what happens if you don't meet those expectations?" she asked, her voice gentle yet probing.

I hesitated, the memories of past failures looming large in my mind. "I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I guess I'm just afraid of letting people down, of not being good enough."

Dr. Philips listened intently, her eyes filled with understanding. 

"It's okay to feel that way, Theodore," she reassured me, her words a balm to my wounded soul. "But it's important to remember that you're more than just your accomplishments. You're a person, with hopes and dreams and fears, and that's okay."

Her words struck a chord within me, a reminder that I was more than just a grade on a test or a trophy on a shelf. I was Theodore Beaumont, imperfect and flawed yet fiercely determined to make my mark on the world.

As our session drew to a close, Dr. Philips made a suggestion that caught me off guard. 

"Have you ever considered using art as a form of therapy?" she asked, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Art?" 

I blinked in surprise, the idea foreign yet strangely appealing, the word rolling off my tongue like a distant memory.

Dr. Philips nodded, her smile widening. 

"It can be a powerful tool for self-expression. Perhaps painting a portrait of yourself could help you explore your emotions in a new way."

The thought lingered in the air, hanging between us like a delicate thread. Could art truly offer the solace and clarity I so desperately sought?

I left Dr. Philips' office with a sense of curiosity and intrigue, the seed of an idea planted firmly in my mind. As I returned home, I found myself drawn to my art supplies, my fingers itching to create something meaningful, something real.

That evening after the session, I retreated to my room, the canvas stretched out before me like a blank slate. With each brushstroke, I poured a piece of myself onto the canvas, the colors swirling together in a chaotic dance of emotion and truth.

But as the night wore on, I found myself struggling to capture the essence of who I truly was. The lines blurred, the colors faded, and I was left with nothing but fragments of a fractured self.

Tired and irritated, I decided to stop painting for today. I step back from the canvas, a rough outline of a person— me, smudged onto the white canvas. It's not perfect, but it's a small step towards it. I plop on the bed tiredly, quite a rough day, but that won't let it stop me from being perfect.