Her name is Madelyn. She grew up in a small town with aspiring dreams to be a model. She moved to New York to pursue her dream, and in the process completely disconnects herself from her family so they don't harass her over being a lesbian. What hap...
The receptionist called my name so I walked up to the desk. "Are you Shay Lionel," he asked me. It's the first time I've seen a guy receptionist before, and I felt like I had seen him before. "Yes I am," I responded. "Do I know you?" He stared at my face in thought and then he recalled. "I believe you do. My name is Loyd. Loyd Richardson." I squealed! "Oh my god, Loyd! You work at therapy now? I haven't seen you since ninth grade back in Cincinnati!" Loyd's eyes lit up as he responded to my outburst. "Oh, my lort! Shayyyyy yeah, it has been that long. I do work at therapy now, and because I'm still in my first month here, I recommend you go." I bid my childhood friend goodbye and walk into therapy.
// I don't really know how therapy works, so bear with me if the reason she's there is invalid or this isn't how it works.\\
When I walk a room that Loyd directed me to there are two chairs and I sit down in one. Someone walks in and tells me that Dr.Mason will be right with me and I just need to fill out the paperwork that she hands me. I take the clipboard from her and fumble in my purse for a pen since I prefer to use my own.
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// This is sorta what I imagine the room to look like.\\
I begin to fill out the paper.
I don't need to think that much to answer the questions that I am asked. They are simple.
What is your name?---Shay Lionel
How old are you?---19
Are you still in school? If so, what do you major in?---I am. I major in apparel/textile design
The questions were like this. Stupid stuff that's really irrelevant. But the farther I went down, the more in-depth the questions got, and eventually, I got to the dreaded part where I had to write in complete sentences. Then, one question was so taxing, I chewed on her pen so long that it broke and ink began to leak everywhere.
"Shit! Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit." I cursed loudly at first and then the words became drastically quieter. I dragged some tissues out of my bag, I swear I have everything in there, and mop up the spilled in on my face and on the floor. My face still looks blue from the ink so I grab my makeup bag and reapply foundation, concealer, color correcter, and lipstick.
I resituate myself on the chair and reread the question on the clipboard. As I do this, an absolutely stunning woman walked in. I have to say that my Lesbian ass was whipped.
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// Do visuals help at all? \\
"Hi!" She was very enthusiastic. I assumed that she was another nurse. "I'm Dr. Martin. I take it that you are Shea?" Her voice instantly calmed down when she started talking about work, I'm not surprised her practice does so well. "Hi. Yes, I'm Shea."
"Great. Have you finished that?" She said gesturing to my papers.
"I only have a couple more left, I think."
"Good. Which one are you on right now?"
"What does my existence mean to me...? What does that even mean?"Dr. Martin sat herself down in the chair across from mine and got comfortable. "If it helps to think of it like this," she said as she bit her lip in thought. "Who are you to yourself, and what does that mean to you?"
