Lupo

Chapter One

It's sad when your anxiety is so bad, you're anxious to even go to a therapist. That sums up my life pretty well, i'm only 15 and my anxiety is almost as bad as a mental patient. I've gone to several camps, treatment hospitals, and therapists. None have affected me in any way. So, of course my worrying mother paid some guy with a beard top dollar to help me. I don't know what she was thinking but it's not going to work, it never does. She pulled into a almost empty parking lot that led to a small building. I sighed, "Mom, we could just get medication. You don't have to pay all this money for some guy that will barely help me."

My mom gave me a perturbed look, "Tristen, you know I don't believe those drugs work! They will change you even more, and not in a good way! This is our best option for the moment."

I sighed once more and got out of the car, I could already feel my heart beating super fast. I am always nervous about meeting new people, primarily therapists. I saw a picture of this guy, he looks younger, but has a face full of hair. I walked in with my mother, it had the same odor as the doctors office, also it kinda smelt like... dog? I thought they might have had a service dog or something like that around, so I thought it was normal. I sat down in a chair closest to a window and farther away from the people also waiting. I looked out the window, and tapped on my chair nervously. Then a tall man came out and walked over to me, I sat straight up and looked up at him.

"Tristen Francis?" He asked in a husky voice.

I nodded and stood up nervously, he laughed a bit and patted my shoulder.

"Don't worry, I won't bite you."

His eyes were a piercing green and his hair looked darker than in the picture. He was a really good looking guy, he had his sleeves rolled up and he looked a bit scraggly, but still professional.

I followed him into a small room with a comfortable looking couch and a desk with a bone on it. Looked like a dog bone, i thought they had service dogs here.

I sat on the couch and my body sunk in, it was pretty soft and comforting. He sat in the computer chair across from me and smiled,

"Im Mark Blackwood,"

He said in a soft deep voice, i blushed a little and quietly sat up a bit more.

"So, Tristen? My mother has told me about your anxiety issues, they are pretty is bad?"

I nodded a bit and lightened up a little.

He proceeded on with telling me how anything said in the room will stay in the room, and that if I say anything about suicide or self harm he would have to tell my mother. But she already knows about my suicidal tendencies, so it really wouldn't do anything. For that whole hour i basically opened up to him. Weirdly, I haven't really gone that far with any other counselor I've had. Maybe it was because I felt guilty for my mom having to spend so much time and money finding someone i could take seriously, or I actually liked him. I still haven't came to a conclusion about that yet. But, i'll see where this goes.