The Heir To Ishtar's Legacy

1 - Therapy

"What do you see?"

Strange, incomprehensible images swam before my eyes as Dr Illius held up another card, looking at me expectantly for an answer. All I could think was, "What am I doing here?" 

"These Inkblots help me to understand your condition better," Dr Illius said in her syrupy voice.

Did she just read my mind? After a moment, I deduced from her sanctimonious expression and insistence on those stupid inky cards that telepathy wasn't in her resumé. I was just being paranoid. 

 I looked at the inkblot without really seeing it. My mind had drifted for the umpteenth time. "Why did I give in to Kerry's suggestion of seeking therapy?" Granted, my best friend didn't know what was going on with me; she thought I was just depressed and firmly believed that pouring out any fears, misery, agony, heartbreak or self-pity to a stranger would help. I knew she had my best interests at heart, and honestly, I felt guilty not telling her everything, but I knew it would freak her out, what with Kerry being 'mainstream'. It was no surprise, though, when I received a letter advising me of some therapy sessions, which commenced three weeks ago.

Focusing on my therapist, I then pondered how she was supposedly qualified to understand and help me with my 'condition'. She was, undoubtedly, well-read about mental health issues, with an enviable portfolio of qualifications and a string of letters after her name. But, I could guarantee she hadn't a Scoobie what she was dealing with regarding my specific problem. Plus, it was so much more complicated than just a glitch in my mental health. This whole situation was enforced on me by my parents. "Nothing she does will soothe my broken soul," I lamented.

I didn't doubt CBT worked for some people. But not me. My reality wasn't something the doc would, or could, ever believe. I seriously doubted any medical textbooks covered what was wrong with me, at least not in the true sense. There would be interpretations of my condition, all not even remotely close to the reality. "No, she'd think me fanciful, deluded, tragic, perhaps...and most probably insane," I deduced. 

"Bria! Work with me here." Dr Illius's voice pierced through my reverie, sounding like a headteacher reprimanding a distracted child. 

I hadn't said much in the three one-hour appointments amassed so far. I supposed I wasn't the easiest of clients, but I bet I was the most unique.

I stared at the card again. The swirls and patches of ink seemed to shift and blend as if floating above the paper. "A kite," I said, fabricated, flat, as I sank back into the leather armchair. She asked for an answer, so I gave her one.

"Good." Dr Illius' praise sounded less than impressed. The scratch of her pen nib on paper intensified as she scribbled furiously on her pad. It started to grind on my nerves, making the hairs at my nape stand on end. I was struggling to keep a lid on my oversensitivity.

"Now, let's try this one." She held up yet another blotchy image.

To my surprise, I did see a particular shape, but I had no idea if "a wolf" was what Dr Illius wanted to hear. I couldn't care less, really. All I wanted was to get out of there before I blew a gasket, for then the doc would be left without doubt about my 'problem'—not that I believed I was born with this completely crazy condition, but if it were true, it definitely wouldn't the best way to uncover what was going on with me. 

I watched as she shuffled through the remainder of the inky cards. Inwardly, I groaned. How much longer must this go on? I had better things to do with my time, such as start packing for my move into my own flat. I didn't get the keys for another two weeks, but I wanted everything to be ready. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to get home.