23rd June 2013.
Thomas Herrick Therapy and Counselling.
Main Building, London.
The office walls were a murky green colour. It somewhat reminded me of the time that I nearly drowned in the disgustingly polluted river at Woodgreen Camp. The way I choked and spluttered, the way death felt so near. The resemblance of the murky coloured wall to the river was almost triggering, but the lack of the insects and ambiguous animal droppings that filled the river I almost drowned in, were not present on the wall which assured that I wasn't reliving that horrid experience.
Okay, I lied.
I didn't drown at Woodgreen Camp. I've never even been to a camp.
But the office walls were somewhat more reminiscent of a disgusting vegetable smoothie I was dared to finish off.
Although the word dared is used loosely in the sense, it was more of a threat.
"Mrs Danville, you don't appear to be suffering from any type of psychosis, if I'm being frank with you," I looked up, realising the woman had just began to conclude on her description of my so called "condition" in the most nonsensical tangent, ever.
"You're perfectly fine, although at times suffering from what appears to be episodic dyscontrol, which is expected in line with your diagnosis," the thin lips belonging to Ms Lunker nattered on.
God, being an academic success seemed tiring. Her aged throat must be aching. She must be fantastic at deepthroating.
"Reek," I amended, with a complacent smile on my face. An attempt to get the sordid image of the crone performing oral sex.
Although she was pretty attractive for a thin lipped witch.
"Pardon?" her speech was discontinued and the Virgin Mary is my witness, the woman looked almost relieved.
What would she do if she knew what I was thinking about her? I feel like a sex deprived pre-pubescent boy.
"My last name is Reek, my first name is Danville," I corrected. The smile still hung on my face, like a cheap, meaningless but nonetheless cherished painting.
"My apologies," the tight lipped woman corrected, with an uncaring shrug before continuing.
Definitely a crone. Ugly cow.
"As I was saying, Mrs Reeves, is that I am diagnosing you with pathological lying."
I blinked at her. As if it didn't even bother me. Which it didn't.
I was a liar. I've heard it enough times to just laugh it off.
It was all water off a ducks back, as mother said.
The first time I'd ever been called a liar was the worse. They all hurt less each time as time progressed.
YOU ARE READING
Memoirs of an "Overweight" Compulsive Liar.
Casuale(Loosely inspired by the television series, My Mad Fat Diary). Danvile Reeves, a clinically diagnosed compulsive liar with an overweight outward appearance, is thrusted into a world in which even her wild, impulsive tongue could never had never imag...
