Beyond The Canvas

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 - 𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

The bell signaling the end of my last class rang, and I hurriedly made my way to Dr. Philips' office. A small sign on the door read, "Dr. Rachel Philips, Licensed Therapist." I took a deep breath before knocking, entering the room that had become a sanctuary of sorts.

Dr. Philips sat in her plush armchair, a warm smile on her face as she welcomed me in. The room had soft lighting and calming hues, attempting to provide a serene environment for conversations that were anything but serene.

"Good afternoon, Theodore. How are you today?" Dr. Philips asked, her tone gentle yet probing.

"Oh, you know, the usual," I replied, my default response. "Everything's fine."

Dr. Philips raised an eyebrow, her expression suggesting she wasn't buying my standard reply. 

"Theodore, we've been working together for a while now. I can tell when something's on your mind. Let's dig a little deeper today, shall we?"

I hesitated for a moment before giving in. 

"Well, there's just so much going on. Exams, projects, expectations. It's overwhelming, but I can handle it."

Dr. Philips leaned forward, her hands steepled as she studied me. 

"Handling it and feeling overwhelmed are two different things, Theodore. It's okay to admit when things are tough. In fact, it's healthy."

I sighed, feeling the weight of my own expectations pressing down on me. 

"I just don't want to disappoint anyone, you know? My parents, my friends, myself. I need to be perfect."

Dr. Philips nodded knowingly, "Perfectionism can be a heavy burden to bear. What if I told you that you don't have to be perfect all the time? That it's okay to ask for help and take care of yourself?"

"But I can handle it. I always have," I insisted, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

Dr. Philips leaned forward, her eyes locking with mine in a silent plea for honesty. "Theodore, perfection isn't attainable, and it's certainly not worth sacrificing your mental health for. Remember our discussion about the painting? It's a way for you to express yourself, to confront your emotions in a healthy manner."

I remembered the unfinished portrait on an easel in my bedroom, untouched and neglected. The mere sight of it stirred a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within me - guilt, frustration, and a lingering sense of inadequacy.

"I haven't had the time," 

I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. 

"There's always something else demanding my attention, something more important than my own well-being."

Dr. Philips' gaze softened, her voice gentle yet firm. 

"Theodore, your well-being should always be a priority. You can't pour from an empty cup, remember?"

Dr. Philips leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

"What if I told you that imperfection is part of what makes art—and life—beautiful? Embracing your vulnerabilities can be a strength, not a weakness."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. 

"I don't want to be vulnerable. Vulnerable means weak, and I can't afford to be weak."

Dr. Philips sighed softly, 

"Theodore, vulnerability is not weakness. It's courage. It takes strength to acknowledge your fears and uncertainties. It's okay to be imperfect, to ask for help, and to take care of yourself. Your painting is a reflection of your journey. Let it be an exploration, not a quest for unattainable perfection."

The session ended with a heavy silence, my conflicting emotions echoing in the room. Dr. Philips scheduled our next appointment, but as I left her office, the weight on my shoulders remained. The cracks in my façade were visible, but I couldn't bring myself to let them widen. I had an image to uphold, even if it meant burying my true self beneath layers of perfection.