I swear if they. "Mark, therapists here for you!"
"I FUCKING TOLD YOU ..."
"Hey Marcus I'm Lyndsay, nice to meet you. I'm here to discuss what your current feelings are."
Marcus? She's not gonna leave my house without emotional bruising!
"Oh piss off! I've met people like you too many times now, therapy after therapy! When will you learn? I'm not happy and I don't wanna be!" Perhaps a bit harsh for a first meeting. That sentence usually occurs during around the third or fourth session.
"He's not coming back you know."
My face went a deep red. Anger, not good. Fear? "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?" I kicked the table over and slammed the living room door. Two steps at a time up the stairs, like an irritable elephant. Almost pushing my bedroom door from its hinges and again slamming, but not as harsh this time. Ten seconds is enough time for a temper to calm. For me anyway. I instantly broke down. Two tears streamed down my face, followed by six more. I can't continue with this, I thought. And I don't just mean the bouts of rage.
"I think that sessions got him thinking" I heard 'Lindsay' boastfully whisper to my demented mum. Why do I continue to walk through hell?!
