The Best of Her

Chapter Forty five

Mavis.

When I started seeing a psychotherapist, I knew I wouldn't get better all of a sudden. As she told me, the road to healing is a long parkour. It takes time, and effort, and a lot of patience. Trauma doesn't evaporate, and mental illness doesn't go away just because you've been taking your prescribed drugs.

I'm aware of all of that.

In this week session we have talked about my anger, or anger in general. As Miss Cooper put it out, Anger is a powerful emotion, not wrong but something to be feared if not managed and acknowledged. She told me that burying my feelings will only come forth later in ugly ways, ways as using physical violence to resolve my problems. She also expressed how I needed to find a better way to express my suppressed rage. Rage that I've accumulated over years of denying myself, pushing people away and then wondering why I'm alone, and of course punishing myself for any feeling I've ever had.

My autism is high functioning, It's known for  people like me to struggle with understanding other emotions and tones, and we are often seen as robotic. But in reality, sometimes we feel to much, it's overwhelming and we try to shut it out by barely expressing anything, and trying to understand other's feelings is even worst since we can't process our own sentiments.

Talking to someone who seems to understand my brain is strangely relieving like I don't have to justify or explain what I do or did.

So yes, in conclusion therapy is helping me. But right now, right this moment, I feel like throwing every progress out the window just to smash this idiot's head against the concrete wall.

"I'm so sorry," he keeps apologizing, not knowing what to do with his hands as he looks down at my wet shirt, my wet white shirt that is now transparent. I hate how wet clothes feel against my skin, I could feel myself getting more irritated by the second. And the fact that he keeps looking at my chest is not helping his case.

But I try to calm myself down, I can't afford to hit another student, this time I'm sure I won't escape the consequences. Taking a deep breath, "out of my way." he doesn't budge, he looks stunned that I spoke. I do not have the time for this, I want to peel my skin off. "Out of my fucking way."

He flinches at my harsh words but steps away. I don't bother saying anything else to him or even glancing at what he looks like, I'm too busy fumbling with my phone and calling June.

I don't even let him do a greeting before I ask him, "do you have a spare shirt?"

"I think I have one in my car, you need it?"

"Yes, please." I sigh in relief. I'm so grateful to have him.

"Stay where you are, I will bring it." I told him where to find him and in less than ten minutes he was running inside the building with a t-shirt in his hands. A deep frown formed between his eyebrows as he glanced down my shirt. "Are you alright? What happen?"

"I'm fine, just some idiot spilled his water on me." I explain slipping his shirt over my head and then sleeping my tank top from underneath. I don't need any more attention than I'm already having by stripping naked here.

I adjusted the shirt, it was long on me and oversized just how I like t-shirts. But I was wearing big pants, and I'm overthinking if I look like a hobo right now. "How do I look?"

I look up at June to find him smiling down at me. "Pretty. You are always pretty."

"You're sweet but I'm talking about the outfit," he chuckles, kissing my forehead as he pulls me by the waist. "You would look good wearing a trash bag, but I have to admit you wearing my shirt makes you ten times hotter,"