Jacksepticeye Imagines

Dealing with Demons (2)

Word Count: 2255

Art by me, please don't steal it :)

After the group therapy session (it wasn't mandatory, but you thought it'd be okay), which could not have been more agonizingly awkward, Olivia collected you and brought you into a room filled with pastel colors. There, you talked to Kathryn. This must've been your private therapy session. Meaning after this, you could wear your normal clothes.

"I want you to know that you can tell me anything, and anything you tell me is confidential. It'll stay between us," Kathryn spoke. Her voice was firm, but quiet. You merely nodded. "Now, I'm aware that you experience anxiety and depression. Can you tell me what kind of situations make you feel that way? There is no dumb situation. I want to help you feel more comfortable in situations that give you these feelings."

You contemplated which list to go down first. "Talking t-t-to people, stu-uttering pisses me-e off," you paused to try to stop your voice from bouncing between octaves and messing up your words. You thought carefully and spoke slowly in attempt to speak perfectly. "Crowds. Making d-decisions. W-worrying over a-anything. I couldn't d-drag myself out of b-b-bed anymore," you could go on forever, but decided to stop there. You knew there was an underlying reason that you needed to tell her above all else. You breathed in deeply through your nose and exhaled quietly through your mouth.

"M-my fa-fath-ther, he wou-would," you couldn't control your mouth anymore and your increasing frustration wasn't helping either. Kathryn gave you a dry erase board with a pity-smile on her lips. You nodded and accepted the board and a marker. So you wrote it down.

My parents are divorced, and as a kid I would spend a week with each and switch back and forth. My father would lock me in the closet for an entire day, beat me if I asked to go somewhere or to my mom's house, starved me because he said I was disgusting and fat, raped me at least once every visit and

You chucked the marker across the room, tears streaming down your face, and immediately scurried to go pick it up, repeatedly apologizing. She just shook her head. "It's okay, don't worry. It's okay to feel mad."

You pushed the board towards her and she looked over it, solemnly nodding. "I see, childhood trauma manifesting itself as anxiety. Tell me, (Y/N), do you find yourself listening to a voice in your head? Maybe it says degrading things to you." You nodded, staring down at your feet.

"And, does it sound like your father's voice, perhaps?"

Your head shot up. "Yes," you wept. She offered you a tissue and you pressed it to your eyes. "Is it the same sort of things he told you as a child?" You nodded again. You just wanted to go to sleep. Your eyes were sore and you were exhausted but you knew there was no way you were going to be able to sleep. You wondered if Dan felt this way all of the time.

You'd forgotten you were in the room with Kathryn. "Okay, we'll change the subject now. Let's start with the small stuff. Have you make friends?" she asked. You shrugged. "I think so."

She smiled. The staff did that too much. It made you uncomfortable, like it was required of you to smile back. "Good, good. Does it make you feel better when you're around them?" You nodded.

"How do you feel?" You had no idea how to answer that question. You hated when someone asked how you were and you were programmed to say, "fine." Kathryn gave you a look. "I'm going to need more than that outta you. "Is there anyone you're really comfortable around here yet? Someone who's impacted you?" Her face scrunched up as her asked the question. You hadn't been there long, how could you have bonded with anyone so closely? "Well, uh, kinda," you replied. This made Kathryn's face lighten up. "Really? That's great! Tell me all about it, love. No detail is too boring to mention," she grinned, her head resting in her hands. She reminded you of an elementary school teacher, maybe a school counselor, urging her young students to be comfortable talking to her.