⚠️signs/mention of depression, Emetophobia(vomiting)
Days melted into one another as Luna's world grew increasingly smaller. Each morning, her parents gently urged her to rise, but she found it impossible to muster the will to leave the cocoon of her blankets. The guilt that weighed on her heart felt like a stone, pressing down with every passing hour. Despite their loving intentions, the sunlight filtering through her curtains felt harsh, an unwelcome reminder of the world outside her door.
"Mei, it's time for your appointment," her mother called softly from the other side of the door, a quiet knock accompanying her words. "We should get going."
"I don't want to go," Luna replied, her voice shaky and hoarse from days of disuse. The very thought of stepping into the outside world made her stomach churn, the anxiety wrapping around her throat like a vice.
"You have to try," her mother said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. "It's just a therapist. It'll help."
Luna wanted to believe that. She truly did. But the thought of being in a waiting room filled with strangers sent panic racing through her veins. What if someone recognized her? What if they whispered about her behind her back, judging her for the fragile state she found herself in? The weight of their expectations felt suffocating.
"I'm scared, Mom," she finally admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. "What if they don't understand? What if they make it worse?"
Her mother opened the door slightly, stepping into the room with a concerned look. "You'll never know unless you try. I'll be right there with you the whole time. You won't be alone."
Luna could see the worry etched on her mother's face, the way her brow furrowed in concern. "Okay," Luna said reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll try."
After a long moment of silence, her mother reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm proud of you for even considering it," she murmured, her voice filled with warmth. "We'll get through this together."
With a shaky breath, Luna pushed herself to her feet, feeling unsteady on her legs as if they hadn't supported her in ages. She dressed in a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants, the fabric soft against her skin, but even that small act felt monumental.
The drive to the therapist's office felt surreal. Each mile seemed to stretch into eternity, the world outside passing by in a blur of colors and shapes that felt distant and alien. The familiar city streets felt intimidating, filled with memories of her life before the backlash. She wanted to cry, to scream at the unfairness of it all.
When they arrived, Luna hesitated at the entrance, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. "What if I can't do this?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You can," her mother reassured her, taking her hand. "Just take it one step at a time."
Luna stepped inside, the cool air of the waiting room hitting her like a wave. The walls were painted a soft blue, adorned with calming artwork, but the atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken fears. She saw a few other patients seated around the room, each lost in their own thoughts, and suddenly the air felt thick and suffocating.
"Why are they looking at me?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
"They're not looking at you, Mei," her mother replied gently, but her words fell flat as Luna felt their eyes on her, scrutinizing her every move. Anxiety clawed at her insides, and she could feel bile rising in her throat.
"Mom, I can't breathe," Luna gasped, clutching her stomach. The room spun as panic surged through her.
"Let's step outside for a moment," her mother suggested, guiding her toward the exit. "It's okay; just take deep breaths."
But as they reached the door, the nausea overcame her. Luna doubled over, her body heaving as she lost control, the contents of her stomach spilling onto the floor. Mortified, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks as she knelt on the cold tile, embarrassment flooding through her.
"Mei!" her mother exclaimed, rushing to her side, panic in her voice. "It's okay. Just breathe. I'm right here."
"I'm so sorry," Luna choked out, her hands shaking as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The shame felt overwhelming, the fear of being judged amplifying her anxiety. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay, sweetheart," her mother soothed, kneeling beside her and rubbing her back gently. "This happens. Just focus on breathing. You're safe with me."
As Luna's breathing gradually slowed, she felt her mother's comforting presence grounding her, the warmth of her touch helping to ease the storm inside. The waiting room felt like a distant memory, the judgmental stares fading into oblivion as she focused on her mother's calming voice.
"I can't do this," Luna whispered, tears still flowing. "I can't face them. I'm broken."
"No, you're not broken," her mother insisted, her tone fierce yet tender. "You're hurting, and that's okay. Everyone goes through tough times. We just need to take it step by step."
Luna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to process her emotions. "But what if I never get better? What if I'm stuck like this forever?"
"You won't be," her mother said firmly. "You're stronger than you think. You've faced challenges before, and you can do this. It's okay to be scared, but you have to trust the process."
Luna leaned into her mother's comforting embrace, feeling the warmth seep into her bones. "What if I can't talk? What if I just sit there and cry?"
"That's okay," her mother reassured her. "Sometimes crying is the best way to communicate. Just let it all out."
Slowly, Luna felt a sense of calm wash over her, the fear and anxiety easing ever so slightly. She wiped her tears and took another deep breath, trying to find the strength to face the waiting room again. "Can we just go home?" she asked softly, the weight of dread still lingering.
Her mother hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Of course. We'll go home, but I want you to try again next week. Can you do that for me?"
Luna nodded, the thought of returning to the therapist feeling daunting but not entirely impossible. "I'll try."
As they left the clinic, her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the car. Luna felt the sunlight touch her skin, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill of anxiety that had enveloped her. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of her mother's support, trying to draw strength from it.
"I'm so tired, Mom," Luna admitted as they got into the car, her voice thick with emotion. "Tired of everything. I don't want to feel like this anymore."
"I know, sweetheart," her mother replied gently, her eyes filled with understanding. "But it's okay to be tired. You're going through a lot right now. Just remember, you don't have to do it alone. We'll help you find your way back."
Luna looked out the window as they drove, the world outside still bustling with life. It felt surreal to be a part of it, yet utterly disconnected. But somewhere deep inside, a flicker of hope ignited, a small voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, there could be a way back to the light.
For now, all she could do was take it one day at a time, and as the car rolled on, Luna clung to the thought of recovery, however distant it seemed. She wasn't ready to let go of hope just yet.
