Trust me, please || J.JK

6: Trigger

Your worst battle is between what you know and what you feel.

I am sitting in this waiting room for thirty six minutes to be precise. I count every second as the anxiety grows bigger and bigger. My appointment with my therapist was at 4:30. But due to the unavoidable pervious  hallucinations at school I had to skip classes and sit on this hard padded chair. The constant ticking if the clock is mixed with the clacking of the keys coming from the receptionist and the constant mundane commercials from the TV.

The place is nothing like that of my previous therapist. This place looks more gentle with the baby blue and sea green ombre walls rather than the plain white walls of Mr. Brown. I look down at the card in my hand, 'Dr. Kim Seokjin' in black with his degrees below on a white background.

A splitting headache pushes all my concerns at the back of my head. I pocket the card and hold my head in the attempts that the pressure will calm it. My eyes burn, I could already see how red they will be after the constant crying.

"Are you okay dear?" a old feeble voice matches a shaky hand with holds my shoulder. I see an old lady probably in her late sixties giving me a caressing smile. I nod.

"Relax dear, the doctor is very sweet and understanding,  he'll help you out" she as if she read the fogging thoughts running through my mind. I nod again.

I need to relax. I try to regain my steady heart beat by breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth.

"Ms. Y/n?" I hear a smooth female voice. My pulse rate shot up once again.

"Y-yes" My voice breaks letting out that I've been crying.

I see a woman peering at me and tapping her clipboard simultaneously.  I stood up almost too quick, painfully jerking my knee on the glass table in front of me. A sharp shearing pain is felt along my ankle. I hiss.

"Dr.Kim is waiting for you." she plasters a smile on her face replacing her confused expression when I was being clumsy.

"Okay" I say as I nod my head and walk to wards the door.

As I approach the slightly opened door of the room from which white light was pouring out through the crack, I feel my legs wobble.

"Hello, Ms.Y/n. Please take a seat." a smile is spread across the therapist's face. He is quite young for someone who is claimed to be in this medical field for quite long.

"Hello." I keep it simple as I reciprocate his smile.

"Mr. Brown has already told me about you." The smile never fades from his face but his voice has changed into a professional tone.

"Can I ask you how the city has been treating you?" he starts asking questions.

"Good." I keep my answers short.

He looks a bit disappointed but he continues.

"How many hours of sleep did you get yesterday night?"

"An approx of five hours" I asseverate.

"Let's be honest here okay?" his gentle scrutinizing eyes sees me straight through my lies. But he chooses to let it go. He starts dotting down the points on his pad.

"On a scale of one to ten how elevated do you feel?"

If I need to forget Jimin I need to tell him the truth.

"Two"

"How anxious?"

"Nine"

"Irritability?"

"None"

"Okay... On a scale of one to ten how depressed do you feel?"

"Ten" I decide to tell the truth. I raise my head up which was looking down at my feel which was bobbing all the while.

He looks crestfallen but also happy that I'm ready to allow him to help me.

"Did something wrong happen recently?" he asks burdened with concern.

"Were you bullied? Did the teachers scold you? Do you feel home sick?" after every question he asks I shake my head.

"Then?"

"Hallucinations" I croak.

The tears well up in my eyes. How can I forget someone who gave me so much to remember.

"Like what?" he lowers his voice and places his pen down, granting me his full attention.

"I don't know if Dr. Brown told you about my-"

"Your post traumatic disorder?"  he cuts my sentence. It was very unusual of a therapist to interrupt the patient but I think he did so because he could see how painful it was for me to explain it to him.

I nod. The memories sneak out of my eyes and rolls down my cheek.

"What was it like?" he sounds painful and scared asking the questions.

"I saw Jimin today...He embraced me and the next moment..." I gulp trying to push the bubble swelling in my throat.

"He was standing there covered in blood... Telling me he loves me..." The tears start falling again, choking me.

"It's okay..." he hold my hand and squeezes it after handing me a tissue to clean up my mess.

"When was the last time you had these?" he asks.

"I haven't had them for the past eight months." I say clumsily trying to breathe.

"Was there something which reminded you of him? Or was there someone with you at that time?"

I try to think despite of my vulnerability.

"A trigger?" he asks making my eyes widen.

The terrace boy...

***

He triggered me to feel
negative emotions. He is a messenger.
He is a messenger for the
unhealed parts of my
being.