Media Secret: Hidden Johansson

Through The Looking Glass

After breakfast, I made my way to Dr. Weiss's office, the familiar path through the quiet, sterile hallways somehow comforting in its routine. The walls of the center were lined with soft, neutral tones meant to calm the senses, but today, it felt like the walls were closing in on me, the space too small to contain the flood of emotions I'd been holding back.

When I reached her office, Dr. Weiss was already seated behind her desk, her posture as straight and composed as ever. She looked up as I entered, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of my appearance—tired eyes, tense shoulders, the slight tremor in my hands. She didn't need to ask how I was; she could see it all written on my face.

"Good morning, Tom," she said, her voice calm but not devoid of warmth. "Have a seat."

I nodded and lowered myself into the chair across from her. The room was simple, functional—just the two chairs, her desk, and a single window that let in the pale morning light. There was nothing here to distract me from the work at hand.

Dr. Weiss leaned forward slightly, her hands folded neatly on the desk. "I know yesterday was difficult for you. It seems like you're carrying a lot of weight this morning."

I let out a slow breath, nodding. "Yeah. It's been... a lot."

She didn't push, just waited, giving me the space to continue if I wanted. After a moment, I did.

"I keep thinking about that night," I said, my voice quiet. "When I came back from Syria and showed up at my mum's hotel. I hadn't thought about it in detail for a long time, but now... it's like I'm back there."

"Tell me more about that night," Dr. Weiss prompted gently. "What stands out to you the most?"

I hesitated, then closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me. "The exhaustion," I finally said. "I was so exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally. I hadn't slept in days, and the adrenaline that had kept me going was finally running out. I remember dragging the stretcher through the desert, and when we finally got picked up, I was barely holding on. By the time I made it to London, it was like my body just... gave out."

She nodded, encouraging me to go on.

"I discharged myself from the hospital," I continued. "I didn't want to be there anymore—I just needed to see my mum. I knew where she was staying; she always stays at Claridge's when she's in London. So I went there. I don't even remember getting there, not really. It's all a blur of... of just trying to stay upright."

"What did you expect to find when you got there?" Dr. Weiss asked.

"I don't know," I admitted, opening my eyes and meeting her gaze. "Maybe some kind of... I don't know, safety? I just wanted to feel like I wasn't alone. I didn't even know if she was there, but I had to try. And when she opened the door... I just collapsed. I didn't have anything left."

Dr. Weiss's eyes softened slightly, her expression thoughtful. "It sounds like that moment was a turning point for you—a moment when you allowed yourself to let go, to reach out for help, even if it wasn't in the most conventional way."

"I guess," I muttered, my gaze dropping to the floor. "But it didn't feel like strength at the time. It felt like... failure. Like I couldn't even keep it together long enough to make it through the door."

"You were coming from an extreme situation," Dr. Weiss reminded me. "After everything you'd been through, it's understandable that your body and mind reached their limit. There's no shame in that, Tom."

I nodded, though I wasn't entirely convinced. "I just... I hate thinking about it. I hate how weak I felt. And now, every time I think about it, I'm right back there—feeling like I'm about to break all over again."