Doctors Need Checkups Too

It wasn't unusual for Dot to dream about the little shed she used to play check up in, even after she went through countless sessions of therapy to get rid of said dreams. She just couldn't find a way to forget the nonsense that encompassed her childhood.

Sure, every child played make-believe; some even had imaginary friends. But they were all disillusioned at some point, right? Deep down inside those kids knew that they were just pretending. That's surely where Dot differed from the other kids.

She didn't find out that she was supposed to stop with all the make believe until it was too late and her parents had already called a psychiatrist. Her mom had cried that day, Dot remembers. It had been Dot's dream to become a doctor like her mother, and, in a way, it was her mother's dream for her daughter to follow in her footsteps. In her mom's mind, Dot's future of becoming a doctor was completely tarnished.

"Dottie," her therapist began reluctantly, but very seriously, one session, "I must ask you something of much importance."

"Okay?" Dot rolled her eyes, but quickly changed her annoyed expression to a more playful one—hoping to not have hurt the woman's feelings. Dot had realized a while ago that her shrink, Debbi, probably had more mental issues than Dot did, so she always remembered to be gentle."Er—um," Debbi stuttered—picking at her sleeve. "Well, uh, do you genuinely feel that your condition has-uh-been improved since you've been visiting me?"

"Um..." the girl hesitated, not really knowing how to reply without upsetting the woman. Sure, Debbi had been a great person for Dot to vent to, but she was a terrible therapist. Sometimes Debbi even turned their sessions into a venting session for herself—always oversharing about her family and her own therapist's opinions on her anxiety. Sometimes Dot was entertained by these little stories, but other times she was not. Nevertheless, Dot's condition never improved, and she still found herself thinking about those days back in her parent's shed.

She missed the friends that she was told time after time were just stuffed animals. She missed Stuffy and Hallie and Lambie. She missed them all. She would never find friendships like that again. And...fuck it if that meant she could never be a doctor—she couldn't let go of something so dear to her. Even if they were illusions...

"No," Dot said, replying to her doctor's nervous inquiry. "I don't feel like I've improved much," her eyes stared at her shoes. "But I-uh-don't think that's your fault exactly. Maybe I'm just impossible to change."

Debbi sighed sadly, "Dottie, no one is immune to change or improvement. I believe you can get better, and maybe we've just gone about this the wrong way."

Dottie nodded quietly—not exactly knowing how to respond.

"You're such a bright girl, Dottie. Top of your class, sweet, and kind. You have so much potential. I mean—you're only 18 for god sakes. It'd be a shame to waste all that potential for a few raggedy stuffed animals."

The girl winced, but she let the comment slide. She was too surprised Debbi had gone this long without having a panic attack. Dot was slightly impressed by her newfound confidence. She may not have been improving, but her doctor sure was.

"Anyway, I think it's time for you to go back to the shed," the woman exclaimed happily.

"Back to where?" Dot questioned. "Why would I go back there?"

"Exposure therapy," the doctor explained. "I've talked with a few other doctors, and they all felt that being back at that little clinic of yours will show you that it all was an illusion."

"I don't really think this is a good idea," Dot cocked an eyebrow.

Debbi exhaled deeply and held her head in her hands as if Dot were the difficult one, "I mean what could go wrong?"