Waiting Room | A Stranger Things Story - Eddie Munson | VOLUME II

On The Turning Away | Part VIII

𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖, 𝐏𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐡

'𝐒𝐎, 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑?'

I was sat across from my therapist at one of our weekly sessions. It was an average sized office, with white walls and large casement windows fitted to make it seem bigger and more open. But I couldn't help but feel like the walls were closing in on me every time I entered the room.

She had kind eyes that could be seen through her thick black rimmed rectangular glasses, and her Auburn hair was always tied up in a ponytail. She wasn't intimidating or cruel in character the way I had imagined some therapists to be.

'Truthfully?' I asked.
I shuffled around in my seat on the black leather armchair, feeling the material squeak beneath me as it chafed against my brown tailored trousers.

'Well, I'd hope you've been telling the truth so far otherwise what's the point?' She said, smiling.

'I don't know.' I shrugged, picking at the skin of my thumb as my hand laid idly in my lap.
'About progress, that is. I'm not sure if I've made any.' I continued, glancing up at her.

'I don't think you're going to make any progress sitting in your apartment alone, I think you need to expose yourself to the things that might fill you with dread.' She suggested.

'Maybe then you'll realise that the world isn't all that frightening after all, if you truly take the reins. Start putting those cognitive thought patterns that we've practiced into action.' She nodded, reassuringly.

'What are you saying, that I should go back there?' I asked, taken aback.

'I'm not saying you have to do anything that's going to trigger you, or overwhelm you. Maybe take it in baby steps. Visit for a weekend, see some old friends. The ones that wrote to you, they seem to care about you.' She said.

Dustin was the only one that had written to me consecutively. I hadn't told him where I was or where I was living, so I could only assume he figured this out in his own special Dustin way.
I had only read one and chose not to reply.

'You're carrying burdens that are far too great for you to hold on to. Guilt, shame, loss. All I want to do is show you how to carry these burdens and make them lighter. But truth be told, I think with enough work we might even be able to put some of them away for good.' She stated.

'I still see her sometimes.' I muttered.

'Your friend?' She asked. She reached across the arm of her chair to reach for a notepad and a pen that were sat atop a small, white side table.

'Mainly when I go to sleep. Or sometimes it'll be something stupid like I'll smell someone's perfume when I walk by them on the street and I just freak out. It's like, everything just reminds me of her, still.' I shrugged conservatively.

'There's no timeline for grief, Kathryn. These triggers are sent to test us. Songs, smells, anniversaries or milestones.' She reassured me as she began writing.

'Yeah, well it sucks. It's like the world won't let me forget about her. Not that I want to, but I at least want to just live.'

'Well of course, who doesn't want that?' She asked, peering out at me from the frames of her glasses.
'Don't let the guilt consume you.' She began, shifting herself so that she was making direct eye contact.
'You've suffered from trauma, and I think you had a lot of survivors guilt so to speak.'