The Door

The Door: Chapter 1 - It Begins

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Stop pinching your skin! You'll leave an ugly bruise like last time. I bet she saw that. I bet the super intelligent Dr. Ellen Young saw me doing that; that's why she's scribbling something on her enormous notepad. Her blue pen is moving fast, and that period must indicate something final in her thoughts about me. What is she writing? What does she really think of me?

I looked down at my poor left hand to see the skin between my thumb and index finger turn a light shade of reddish purple. Damn this anxiety. Why did I drink that coffee before I came here? I didn't need it; also I just like the shot of caramel they put in, I thought.

"Then what happened?" Dr. Young asked, with a slight frown. Why was she frowning at me? She must have been concerned for me. I didn't see her as often as I should have. I vowed not to skip any more sessions. She was a psychiatrist, and she wanted to help me; therefore I should let her.

"Then I wake up. The nightmare is over. And I'm back in my room. And I am safe. But I'm covered in sweat, and I feel—"

"Scared?"

"No, I feel exhausted."

"How's your anxiety?"

"I usually feel anxious later in the day, when I'm out doing stuff. I sometimes get anxious at school."

"How are you handling that?"

"I go to the toilet. It's quiet in there, and I'm away from all the noise. I sit on the toilet seat and just breathe."

"You say that you have nightmares at least twice a week, and right before it gets too scary, you wake up."

"Yeah, it happens all the time. I had another nightmare two nights ago."

"Tell me about that, Josh." I didn't want to go over the details again, and I think she knew that. She leaned in and pressed her hand on my knee. Her hand felt warm. A comforting breeze from outside swept in, making the thin white curtains and small plants that were scattered around her office move, as if they were dancing to a slow song. I untangled my fingers and rested my bruised left hand on a gray pillow.

"Take your time. There's no rush," Dr. Young said, taking back her hand so she could write.

"I'm—" I stopped, unable to find even the simplest words.

"I know it's not easy, but remember that nightmares are just very unpleasant dreams. They don't make you feel good, but they can't hurt you. In fact, nightmares should be celebrated."

"What?"

"Yes, you heard right. They should be celebrated because you're subconsciously dealing with it, whether you like it or not. Your sleeping mind is expressing and releasing all your internal fears that you don't wish to face in waking life."

"Oh." What else can I say? She's the professional one, not me.

"Now, inhale slowly, and exhale gently. And tell me more about your nightmare."

I could feel my heart beating unusually hard against my chest. I wondered whether I was too young to have a heart attack.

"All right, here goes," I said, automatically forming each of my hands into tight, anxious balls. I felt pain in both of my wrists.

"Relax, Josh," Dr. Young said, looking at my fists.

"Yeah, I have a hard time doing that. I have a hard time doing most things, nowadays." Before I continued, my tired eyes traveled to Dr. Young; her Asian eyes stared back at me with pure compassion. She brushed her thick black shoulder-length hair away from her face and gave me a polite smile. The breeze seemed to be colder now. "I'm in the old house again with my parents."