Dying to know

I was flying

It had been a while since I'd been in Frank's office. I'd missed a few appointments. He even sounded relieved when I'd finally called him for a new appointment.

A lot had happened since I'd seen him last and I knew he wanted to know why I'd missed all of those appointments. I had a legit reason, though.

"It's been a while," Frank said.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry about that," I scratched the back of my head awkwardly.

"For a minute, I figured you'd done something to yourself," he added.

Little did he know.

"I understand. This is actually the last session. I've decided to stop therapy," I told Frank immediately. I figured it was better to get that out of the way.

"Okay," Frank said. I couldn't quite read his expression. Was he sad? Relieved? Maybe he was glad I wouldn't be his client anymore. That he could focus on people that actually wanted to get help.

I actually liked Frank and a part of me was sad I'd never see him again.

"Let's start with the beginning, right?" I told him before he could say anything else.

"Right," he answered. This was usually the time where he'd grab his pen but I guess since this was our last session he didn't care anymore.

"After our last session, I really needed a drink," I laughed humourlessly. "I know I'm a happy-go-lucky person but some attempts have been horrible to go through and I'd locked them up inside my head. I never planned on reliving those moments again. Unfortunately, that's inevitable in therapy," I told him.

"I felt like shit. Nobody was free to go out with me, so I figured I'd go to the office and work on a project. In the past, I'd always liked working during the evening with nobody around," I explained. "Things didn't go the way I planned. I couldn't quite get into my creative flow and I started to get frustrated. As a result, I did stuff I wasn't allowed to," I told him like a child confessing to something.

"I started researching. I only did it because I hoped my creative flow would come back afterwards. But it didn't. So I jumped off of the roof," I said, biting my lip.

"What?" Frank asked.

"I got so frustrated! I wondered why I was even bothering with my job. So I went to the elevator and before I knew it, I was on top of the building. I hadn't tried that method yet because I'm not a big fan of heights. I guess I didn't really care that evening," I shrugged.

"So I jumped. And oh my god, what a rush! Holy shit! I was flying! It was the most amazing feeling in the world," I claimed enthusiastically.

"And then I hit the ground. Well, not really the ground. A guy. I fell on top of a guy who was walking on the street. The paramedics said I wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for him. At that moment, I was unconcious though. I don't remember anything after that. I fell, someone called an ambulance and before I knew it, I woke up in the hospital," I told Frank.

"You were in a coma?" Frank interrupted my story.

"If you can even call it a coma. I was unconcious for, like, half a day? Maybe a little longer? It's the sissy-version of a coma," I explained. "I was confused when I woke up though."

That's something I did remember. I woke up in a strange place, surrounded by beeping machines, my arms and legs were hurt. It felt like I'd been run over by a truck.

You know that feeling every morning when you wake up and for the first few seconds you wonder where you are? I don't. I'd never had that feeling before. This was brand new for me.