𝗖𝝝𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗘

𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡

Luke warm water submerges my skin.

The ringing in my ears slowly becoming more prominent as the remains of hell sink down into a cooling temperature. The once white and enormous soup bubbles, now nothing more but faint foam on the surface. The tips of my hair float in sync with deep breaths, yet the top of my head has already dried back to its previous state.

My hand reaches to turn the hose, but it stops mid-air when I open my eyes to take in the nearly overflowing level.

Guess no more hot burns for me. Can't afford flooding my bathroom.

A phone ding snaps my absent mind back into my body. The screen reveals not a message, but a reminder.

Therapy session 2 o'clock

I dunk my head underwater to stop the headache from growing. Letting out a muffled groan that comes out in the form of air bubbles.

Truly, drowning might be the best way to die at this given moment.

Only after I've had my fair share of so specialists and therapists, my dislike towards psychology majors started to appear. The persuasion of simply communicating your miseries and worries to strangers, definitely sounded more appealing than doing so with your close circle of people.

Which is why my search for a helper begun in the first place.

After having found a person I could freely talk and chat with, my day to day life seemed to benefit massively. Soon problems didn't only rely on me for a solution to be found. It was a nice change, I mean for once I had someone listen to me, genuinely wanting the best for my being. Helping me, if you will.

Yeah it was all lovely and great and just, too good to be true. Because of course, it wasn't. It was simply I who didn't know.

Like an inside joke you're not in on. As the only one.

I opened up to a professional and let them in on my life. Told them about my childhood, family, friends, achievements, failures, battles and wins. Told them too much. Told them everything.

My father payed those people.

He listened to recordings of my sessions. Made the therapists implant things into my brain. Had them control me. Let me find out on my own that everything I had believed to come from someone licensed, was all a lie.

All because I trusted a guy.

"You know, you could try therapy." I remember the soft tone in his voice when he proposed an idea bound to ruin me even more than I was at that moment.

I remember the way my head laid against his chest. Our breathing moving together in sync as I lifted myself up on my elbows to look at him. Take in the peaceful, pure and vulnerable moment.

"Yeah," I couldn't stop a light smile from forming.

I remember starring into dilated pupils taking over the icy blue. Admiring the way shiny black hair fell onto his face whenever he had stayed the night in my collage dorm.

The sound of his laugh after my endless staring. "Want to take a picture?"

I remember hitting him with my pillow. Only lightly, of course. Because how could I ever hurt him? God forbid, I would've never forgiven myself if I had scratched perfection.

"Let me have this moment, will you?" The pillow suddenly not in my possession anymore, as he had now sat up to snack it from my hold.

Pretend-threatening to trow it at me when my hands stretch out in front.