~Close your eyes and picture the warmth of the sun on your skin... that's how being loved by her felt~
Harry Styles is a nepotism baby turned new father, left clueless with a newborn baby to raise, he is overwhelmed and under pressure. Matters are...
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// nearly 15 weeks pregnant//
Bethany leans back in the brown leather armchair that she has in the corner of her secluded office, three stories up.
"Ready, Sunday?"
This in itself is a loaded question because of just how invasive therapy is and can be. Each question has been systematically and strategically calculated to push you from your limits and force you to deconstruct your toxic belief systems.
Every pestilential brick that has been slotted into the wall of protection that I have built up around myself has to be chipped away slowly and surely. Leaving me vulnerable and impuissant to the hurt, pain and heartbreak that people could potentially fire at me.
But it needs to happen. For even so much as a chance for happiness and fulfilment in life, I need to be pushed from my comfort zone and I need to disable a whole belief system that I have spent the last five years abiding by.
"Ready?" Bethany, my therapist calls out when she realises that I am not actually paying attention to her.
I take a deep breath, rolling my lips into my mouth and nodding stiffly as I exhale through my nose with a huff. My shoulders slump with relief as I settle back onto the black leather couch and try to relax against the firm cushions behind me.
"I think so... yeah?"
Bethany looks up at me, smiling knowingly as she softly curls her lips upwards. "You don't sound so confident there."
"I'm not," I whisper back, hooking my connected hand over my knee. "This session is scary for me."
"Why?"
The question is simple but the words are weighted more than I thought they would be. Theoretically, the answer should be straightforward and precise. I should be able to explain why I am dreading this session and the contents that I know are coming. Yet, somehow, I can't seem to describe why talking about this is causing me so much anxiety.
"I don't know," I admit, feeling so out of touch with my own emotions. "I think because I struggle to understand my own feelings and so knowing that I am going to have to talk about everything that has happened in the last–" I swallow thickly. "-last five years. It just feels like..."
I trail off, looking down as my mind clouds over with impending anxiety that I have been trying to fight off all morning.
"No, no," Bethany urges, waving her hand for me to carry on with my word vomit. "Continue, please."
Nodding rigidly, I clear my throat and take a brief second to collect the jumble of my thoughts and try to order them into categories of rational and irrational.
But there is no reasoning for things like this.
If I had it my way, everything that is ever so slightly out of my comfort zone would be classed as a rational fear but that isn't the way that the world works. There are some times when the world plays tricks on you and things that shouldn't be more than a slight comfort for a few seconds suddenly becomes a lifetime's worth of terror.
