I made my way home to an apartment on Park St. Once I stepped through the threshold to my abode my two children surrounded me in their affectionate embracement. Though I was very enervated I benignly hugged them. My wife looked at me solicitously. I realized my clothing was still intensely lacerated. I removed myself to my chambers to put on more decent garments.
When I returned I sat down at the dinner table. My wife, kids, and I grasped each other's hands, shut our eyes to pray to the Lord. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord bless it and make us truly thankful."
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After we had completed dinner, I read my girl a story and sent her to bed. Soon after my teenage son also went to his room. I'm sure he wasn't sleeping though; he was probably scrolling through Youtube or TikTok. Wearily I trudged to my bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I lay prostrate when a voice finally broke the satisfying silence.
My wife spoke up. "Don't worry we'll find someone to help you." "I believe it is becoming worse, I don't know it things are real or not. I could be talking to myself right now." I replied. "Well you're not. You're talking to me. I found a psychologist today, Dr. Townsend, he specializes in psychotherapy." "Alright, I'll schedule an appointment tomorrow." I then turned out the light and slept.
