Planned Conversations (SW#18) : Therapy

Planned Conversations (SW#18) : Therapy

Heyo Bookaholics!

Some things cannot stay in my head…


“So I’ve decided not to take the medication.” My therapist and I had just settled into our respective seats facing each other when I broke the news – if it is even ‘news’ at all. I’d been thinking on her proposal for two weeks now, but deep down I knew, I really knew that medication isn’t the right thing for me.

“Why? I think you should consider it.” She replied, leaning forward in her chair slightly, shuffling around, then leaning back again comfortably. I knew where she was coming from, and yes I’d most certainly considered it. One can only consider something for so long before making up their mind.

She said it last week that medication would give me some time to calm my physiological symptoms and focus on working on my mental ones. It sounded appealing and quite tempting but I said no, though not without reasons of course.

“I don’t want to have an easy way.” I began, taking a deep breath to continue but she stole my floor. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to word what I wanted to say, but it’s what came out first. Agh.

“It won’t be cheating.” she started, but I cut her off before she could repeat herself; again. The same spiel I’d even said to myself before I’d heard it aloud from her.

“Oh I know that, but my mind is effed up. I don’t think it’s cheating per say, more like.” I paused again looking for the right words. “Ignorning.” My brain actually came up with something decent for once. Good job brain, mental pay on the back for you. “I’ll ignore it and put off my recovery of my mental state because well to me it’ll be fixed physically I can deal with the mental shit later.” I was just rambling again like I usually do; I guess maybe this shows the progress of how well I’ve come to identify my weaknesses.

I’m sure she was used to my ramblings and self-depreciating talks by now, but I still feel bad when I did it. Though for some odd reason I could control my ramblings when in this room, so I stopped speaking and scratched my nose a little. Don’t judge, it was itchy and I think there was crusty bit hiding away.

“But that’s why you come here isn’t it?” She took my pause, and subsequent internal monologue as a cue to talk. I would’ve done the same if in her position; the question was relevant though (thankfully) and lead me to my next point.

“Yes, but you know how bad my procrastination is?” Some reason that came out as a question, regardless I continued talking, confident in my argument. Or as confident as I can be when the introductory paragraph of my final exam essay begins with ‘In this essay…’.

“I want to work on that first. My work ethic and avoidance bullshit is something I need to fix first. I honestly believe it’s 99% of my problems.” I took a deep breath, stupidly fearing her response; and yes, I am so thinking of that 99 problems meme. Sue me.

“Look it’s up to you, but just keep it in mind.” She sounded wary but not trying to push anything, probably fearing my mental instability and glad for the lack of windows as she saw me eyeing the door.

I wasn’t intentionally looking for, or thinking of an escape, I just needed a place to look other than her eyes (too intimidating) and I just so happened to choose the door which just so happens to lead outside, a place I’m thinking I want to be more than here. Don’t get me wrong, I actually liked being here it’s a good reprieve from my hectic life, but there were some things that even I felt hard admitting to myself.

Often times I feel ashamed and horrified I could even conjure up such thoughts and I hide my face, my eyes, all the ways one could look past my happy-go-lucky facade. I would break down and tell everything, or I’d keep it inside, far too deep that even I didn’t know the seed existed until I leave the sessions. Maybe I should tell her that?

Her voice breaks my thoughts. “Are you okay?” I look up at her face a painting of soft concern. All her intentions are to help me in every way possible and if she’s spending her time with me, I could spend just as much time on myself to get better.

“I think so.” I reply back, glad to have someone with me. Glad to have spoken the truth of how I feel. First I take charge of my actions then I’ll conquer my thoughts; at least I hope it works like that.

“So tell me.” She starts again; not entirely dismissing our earlier conversation, rather starting afresh; as if our earlier exchange happened yesterday. “How have you been?” I answer truthfully and simply, going into detail where I see fit. This isn’t a hard question for a chatterbox like me and I calm down talking about myself while she takes notes and listens, her facial expressions matching accordingly.

Part 2 of ‘It’s Only A Game’ will be up next week xx 2 e1530100090524 - Planned Conversations (SW#18) : Therapy


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With Love Bree xx

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