HERO SYNDROME

❝You Choose To Exist Not Live❞

"It looks like a squid...attacking a flower?" I squinted to catch a better look, but the black ink still resembled a squid.

"Good. Now what about this one?" Dr. Reed asked holding up the next card.

"A building drowning in water." I answered. "What does this stuff tell you about your patients? Surely you can't diagnose a patient based on ink blots that make no sense, whatsoever."

Dr.Reed sat up and put away the cards. Every move he made seemed intricate and well thought out. Well in my head at least.

When I first met Dr.Reed, a little over a year ago, I was shocked to find how young he was. Usually I imagined therapists to be stuffy forty something year olds. But Dr.Reed was surprisingly young at only twenty nine and handsome too. Not that I cared....much.

But he had an old vibe to him. The Doc had a young guys body, but he had a very old soul. Though he had his moments where I would catch glimpses of just a normal twenty something year old. But those were rare sightings. He was too put together for someone who was most likely still paying student loans.

He was smart too, and was a little unconventional. Most therapists refuse to open up to you about their personal life because it's breaking a professional bond. But Reed told me what he was like. According to him, if he laid out his cards, it's only fair I did the same. I respected that, so I grave Dr.Reed less grief. He surprised me more when he revealed his long history with mental illness and in some weird sense, that comforted me.

Not that he himself dealt with it. In our earlier sessions, when I held most of my apprehension, he revealed he lost his mother. She was an untreated bipolar patient. This is was what broke our tension. An understanding had passed between us. He lost his mother, I lost my father. He understood...to some extent.

"They help doctors find personality traits and help us hinder the inner psychosis of our patients. For example, a sex addict will see promiscuous images. It triggers your mind to the root of the problem." Dr.Reed explained relaxing into his brown leather chair.

"What did you get from me?" I asked turning my head to look at him.

"You don't try. You're afraid of risks and you question everyone's motives. Basically Phoenix you choose to exist not live, because you don't trust yourself or others. Living out your life in a constant state of fear." He diagnosed me as if it was simple. Maybe to him it was, but it was hard to gauge that I could be defined in a couple sentences and have it be completely true.

"You got all that from a few ink blots?" I furrowed my brows, struggling between being offended and impressed.

"No. It's the way your body moves. In short jerky movements and that you always use your arms as shields. You don't like to move a lot because you don't want to attract attention. It's the way you speak. You're harsh towards people because secretly you hope they'll leave you alone. But that's where you're social anxiety lies. Next time you find yourself at a crossroads, and you're tempted to quit, ask yourself this question. Are you living, or just existing?" he asked after dissecting my behavior. It was a relevant question. Was I passing the time living or just existing.

"You're worth every penny Dr.Reed." I mumbled after a long time had passed. I chose to be impressed.

I would be offended if anyone else had picked and prodded my personality, like Dr.Reed did, but I had grown to trust him over the past year. He was my closest confidant, more so than Max or Stella. He knew my darkest secrets and helped me through downward spirals as best as he could. Though his constant nagging that I needed to go to group therapy was about one of his few flaws.

"Now let's talk about group." Dr.Reed spoke like he just read my mind. I groaned and flopped down on the lounge chair.

"I went like you threatened me to." I argued, crossing my arms over my chest.