The Session

The Session

“Speak now.”

“Okay. I hate myself.”

“Why have you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, first things first. I never thought I would be sitting on this chair, with you on the other side.”

“And why is that?”

“Who thinks of seeing a therapist!? Not me!”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yeap. Life, right?”

“How’s life?”

“Um, hard. Complicated. Definitely not the way I thought things would be for me. especially my love life.”

“What about it? Your love life?”

“Ah! Things have been … helter-skelter. If that means anything. I just don’t understand why everything turned the way it did.”

“You know what, let me say what you’ve always been telling me all along. Be straightforward. This is the fifth time we’re sitting next to each other, and you’re still skirting around the issue. You’re not opening up, and I’m not sure what your goals are, but I don’t think I’ll be of much help if you continue doing what you’re doing. Let’s start from the beginning. It’s easier that way, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I know. I just have no words to explain it all. I’m still juggling with words in my head. Have you ever been to a circus before? And there’s that guy holding three, four balls, throwing them up in the air, like they’re nothing to him. No? some hold bottles. Maybe you’ve seen those.”

“I’ve been privileged to see them through my television set. What are you juggling?”

“A lot doc. Can I call you doc? Or Pist? Short form of therapist. I’ve always imagined I’d call my therapist ‘Pist’ just to show how funny I can be. PIST. PISS. Huh!”

“That’s new. So, juggling …”

“Yeah. You know, we met at a different time. I didn’t know myself. I was a boy. Have you talked to boys? Romantically?”

“A long time ago. Yes.”

“Now imagine the boy you had a conversation with. I was that boy. And she took advantage of that, or so I think.”

“Why do you think that way?”

“Because … she took advantage of that; and I’m pissed by it.”

“Why do you feel that way? What did she do?”

“You know journals are pretty personal, right?”

“Yes. I agree.”

“Now imagine someone reading your journal. And not just one story, several scribbled narratives of your darkest secrets. How would that make you feel?”

“Bad. It’s a violation of privacy. I’d feel bad. Is that what happened?”

“Now imagine, Doc, that someone reads that, and what they’re reading, it’s about them. And still, they do choose to hurt you. How would you feel about that?”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“I loved her doc. Probably do as I’m saying this to you, and the worst of it all, when trying to show her how much; my journal came into play.”

“She stole your journal?’

“No. She’s not a thief. At least during that time, we were together. I gave her my journal. To read. Sections of my past that linked to her directly.”

“And …”

“She still hurt me! Now, what kind of person is that? What kind of monster is that?”

“I’m trying to figure that part out! What had you written about her?”

“Just the normal stuff. My insecurities and whatnot. But that’s the raw me. My bare feelings burst wide open for everyone to see. And she still hurt me.”

“Why did you do it?”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you been following? I loved her!”

“Okay. I understand. Let me rephrase; what did you hope to achieve?”

“What does that mean? I just told you! I loved her, and I wanted her to see how much.”

“I don’t see how someone will love you if you show them your journal.”

“You know what, I think we are done here. There’s nothing fruitful from all this. Are even trained?”

“When I was your age, there was this young man; his name was Christopher. He was handsome. Brown eyes, adorable lips, and quite strong. When he tried to convince me into marrying him, he kept on telling me about his darkest thoughts each time. How he sometimes thought of killing those who disagreed with him. Not that he was a bad person, but the more he talked about it, the more I got scared about my life, and the future he wanted to create for us. Deep down, something told me that he wouldn’t do it, and it was just simple talk; but there’s that thought at the back of your mind. What if he meant what he said? What if he would do it?”

“What did you do?”

“I left him. moved to a new town, and wanted nothing to do with him. It’s not that I didn’t love him; God knows I still wish we ended up together, and this is what? Twenty years down the line? But it’s what he kept on saying over and over that pushed me away.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah. So, I’m not sure what you wrote inside your journal, but I’m sure there might have been something she didn’t like, and chose to leave.”

“Whoa! I wasn’t writing about how I killed people. I’m not that kind of person.”

“I’m not saying that you are, what I’m trying to articulate is; sometimes we share bits of ourselves out there, and they aren’t the best; making people keep a safe distance.”

“See, before all that happened; we had a little bit of history doc. She was this sweet girl with dreams and ambition. And I loved that about her, so much that I tried my level best to show her what she could do to improve her skills. She didn’t and it made me sick.

She was comfortable with the way things were, and that wasn’t my philosophy. At all!”

“What was your philosophy?”

“We’re humans! We make progress each new day. Things happen and we make plans. If those plans fail, we make new ones, and the process doesn’t end until we get old and grey. She wasn’t built that way. She couldn’t push me to be better!”

“Couldn’t you push yourself? It should be intrinsic!”

“But look at it from the perspective of five, ten years. If we’re young and able, yet she’s already comfortable, how would we build each other and become successful? It doesn’t make sense. At least to me, and I told her that we needed to build each other. It was our duty. She had goals for Christ’s sake! But no! she didn’t do anything.

But that’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“We had a little bit of a rough patch. And everyone went their separate ways. But she never left my mind. I thought of her so much, until I couldn’t hold it. And I went back to her, telling myself it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep pushing myself regardless. And that’s when it happened.”

“What happened?”

“The journal thing. I showed her how I struggled to remain sane in her absence. And she still drove a sword inside my heart, regardless. How monstrous!”

“Do you feel like you were doing her a favor?”

“What? No.”

“Then why does it hurt?”

“I wished things went the other way you know, be with her. Build a family.”

“Do you still love her?”

“A little bit.”

“Then you should understand that you did all you could. And things didn’t go as planned. True love is when you let her go.

Showing someone your journal doesn’t mean they’ll take the meaning you want them to take. Maybe they saw something else. Like me, I was worried yet that man became the mayor of the town we lived in. I couldn’t foresee that!”

“I’m trying doc. I’m trying to let her go but still pops up. I feel betrayed you know. When on my pillow at night, I think about her, and I feel that pain surge, overwhelming my soul. And that makes me question very many things inside my heart.”

“That’s a good thing. It means you’re in touch with your feelings.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not a good place to be.”

“It’s a start. And things will get better.”