Thirty Minutes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


It's basically just a short story mainly focusing on the idea of therapy. If anyone has ever experienced therapy they can kinda relate and hopefully give people who never had the experience before
a glimpse of it. If your thinking of therapy I would personally recommend it. I've never been a big talker about feelings but it might help significantly in your situation

Submitted: July 28, 2018

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Submitted: July 28, 2018

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The therapist sits down across from the leather couch at his plain old desk that contained an old picture and of course a computer. I can already smell that stupid lavender mist that's supposed to help "relax you", bullshit. The lights are dimmed as always as the tiny sun rays peeking through the window blinds reflect off of the insipratioal posters that you end you up reading time and time again when the room goes silent. Until you memorize every single word by heart. They then simply ask with there hands folded "What's going on, what brings you here today". Such a stupid question to ask. You should know why, I shouldn't have to tell or show you. Plus how do you explain something to someone that you can't even explain yourself. But then your mouth moves and answers like it was almost told to by another person and just went along without asking your permission. "I'm depressed". Simple answer. Hopefully simple enough, yet just that one word has such a meaning no one could fully understand or comprehend. "Well, why are you depressed". I hate that fucking question. If I knew why I wouldn't be here talking to a fucking stranger that gets paid to sit here and tell you to tough it out. It's life, it gets better. Bull shit. How do I even answer that question. I don't even know how to respond to it. Without noticing I was thinking to myself the whole time and at least a minute passed by and it was nothing but complete silence. Something I was use to. Waste of complete fucking money, the whole time you sit there in silence listening to the clock tick until the thirty minutes are up with the occasional simple questions, "How does that make you feel" or "What can you do to help yourself in that situation" you get what I'm saying. I then awake from my day dreaming when then they ask a very frequent question "What about those" they usually point to my arms and thighs but sometimes just stare at you with a blank stare. I get asked that question alot. More times then I like to be honest. But I was happily glad to answer almost like I'm proud to be a cutter, damn just saying that makes me think I'm such a freak. "There cuts" I say sarcastically with a grin. My answer Everytime they ask. Hey, it's a stupid question in the first place but I guess they have to make there money somehow. He really didn't like that response. "Why do you cut though?". Here comes the physco moment. "It's an addiction, I can't stop". If you never cut you will never understand the grip it has on you. Like they say, well I think they do, once a cutter always a cutter. "What causes you to have that urge". If they want the complete truthful answer I could say it used to be just simple shit like sharpeners or scissors even something as simple as glass. Now it's everything. It comes out of nowhere and eats you alive until you make the first cut. Then it's all downhill from there. Blood though, I'll have to admit is one of my favorite triggers. I just shrug. I know, I know, your suppose to be completely honest and express how you feel to make this shit work but I'm terrified that once I say what's truly going on, they will put me back in the ward again. I simply reply "Everything". Then they usually give you this werid look and says "Hmm". Bravo for that amazing response. Then trys to give you "other" techniques to do instead of cutting. I fucking hate when they do that shit. They never work. Hair tie, tried it. Ice in hand, tried it. Marker wrist, tried it. The list goes on. It's pretty funny though watching them come up with the most random, desperate af shit. They make it seem so believable I'll give them that. But at the end of the day let's admit it, it's all bullshit. Then that's it. If you don't self harm, it's typically about your social life or the bullying that's going on. It's honestly pretty simple yet everytime you leave you feel more messed up then you did when you first came. Magic I guess. Then we all hear those most amazing life saving words, "Well, are time is up". Then all you do next is schedule the next appointment and your one handshake away from leaving the most akward confused thirty minutes of your life. Another appointment. Another disappointment. You see the last glance of the insipratioal posters before the door shuts behind you. See you next week I guess. You know by going it's most likely solving nothing but you feel like you tried every other option to get help. So you continue to go. Continue to schedule more and more appointments hoping maybe one day those thirty minutes will change your life for the better. You go home the cycle repeats. You cut. You cry. You hide. You smile. You live. Even though it's one of the most hardest things to do right now. It gets better, right? Please tell me it gets better.


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