54.
November 12th, 2020
“I’m okay,” I said to the woman before me. I then looked down at my hands and began peeling off the excess polish from around my nails.
I’d painted them yesterday, and because I was lazy and moody, I’d fallen asleep without cleaning off the extra lacquer that was on my skin.
“Zaira?”
I glanced up. “Yeah?”
Dr. Stacey Hill, my therapist, slightly narrowed her brown eyes at me. “I’ll ask again:how are you today?”
It was 9a.m., and our weekly session had just begun. When I’d taken a seat on the plush sofa a short distance away from her a couple minutes ago, she’d given me a beautiful smile and asked me how I was doing.
She was kind, my therapist. She made me feel at ease with the thoughts in my mind. She didn’t have to push me to answer her questions; I just felt okay enough to answer them. She didn’t ask me to share things beyond the importance of my comfort, but whenever I began telling her something, I found that I just couldn’t stop. She had that aura about her, I guess. Her calm demeanor and understanding eyes made it easier for me to open up.
I enjoy the hour I get to spend with her, because there are sessions where we talk and laugh, and those where I sit and sketch comic ideas on my tablet while she responds to emails and attends calls.
“I told you I’m okay,” I said to her. I was the opposite of it, actually, but I also wasn’t in the mood to tell her why. Strange, I know, but my head felt too heavy to be comprehensive. I just wanted to sleep, but I also didn’t want to miss my session with her.
Dr. Hill placed a hand under her chin. “I know when you’re lying, Zaira.”
“I’m not lying,” I countered as I continued to peel the excess polish from my skin.
She sighed. “Okay.” She leaned back in her leather chair. “And how have you been sleeping? Just as good as before?”
“Yup,” I answered honestly. I had zero trouble sleeping, which, according to Dr. Hill, was a good sign.
“What about nightmares?” she asked next. “Have you had any since our last session?”
I swallowed and hugged myself. “I had one last night,” I whispered as I blinked at her. The air conditioner in her room was always maxed out, so I had to wear baggy hoodies and jeans to keep myself from shivering. I couldn’t ask her to change the temperature, because apparently, she liked it when her surroundings were chilly.
She nodded at me. “What did you see in your nightmare?”
I crossed my legs on the sofa.
My cast had been taken off, and even though I felt a slight pull on the back of my knee every time I walked, I could at least walk withoutlimping.
“The usual,” I told Dr. Hill in response to her question about my nightmare.
She raised a brow at me – a silent command for me to elaborate.
“You already know what it is,” I said to her. “I’ve told you about it every time I’ve had it. Why do you keep asking me to say it out loud?”
“Because it’s good for you,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Reliving my nightmare is a good thing for me?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “You’re not reliving it; you’re simplyvoicingit. That way, the power it has on your mind grows weaker every day. Have your nightmares not become more distant now that you’ve been telling me about them?”
I nodded.
When I’d started visiting her, our sessions would take place every single day. Then she began dating them to every two days. And, when I finally started telling her about my random frights and nightmares, she scheduled our sessions once every week.
She was right. Where my nightmares had kept waking me up every night at first, they were now only making an appearance once or twice a week. Talking about them had helped me, and I hadn’t even realized that until she’d just told me about it.
But…
