Well, you wanted to be a writer...

Don't let them Define You

*Trigger Warning*  This story may feature feelings of depression or anxiety.  If you are contemplating suicide call the helpline at the bottom of the story.  You are not alone. 

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It had come to this.  Phoenix knew it had been heading that way, but it was terrifying.  Every ounce of his being wanted to run, flee, but he couldn't.  Not with Water Witch practically manhandling him into the office.

"C' mon, *gasp* Phoenix, *gasp* you need *gasp* to see *gasp* Dr. Amber."

"I don't like doctors," he responded shaking her off of him.  She sighed and looked at him.

"Phoenix... I get it.  I really do.  You know I do... look, she isn't... them.  Ok?  She wants to help, she has helped me start working through my stuff.  I want to make sure you do as well.  You aren't alone anymore."  Phoenix stared at her.  "Also, Phoenix, you already said you would so now it is time to go through that door."

"No."  At that, a very undignified groan passed through Water Witch's throat.

"Fine, then just stand in front of her office forever, you know the conditions.  Either go in that room and start dealing with everything or else you are no longer going to be working as a superhero."

"But-"

"No buts.  Just get in there or not, I have to go.  I have a runway show at three and I need to get my hair and makeup done."  At that she let go of him and left, leaving Phoenix to his worst nightmare yet.  Therapy.  Where he would have to talk, remember, relive, everything he had tried so hard to forget in the past three years.  He took a breath, collected his nerves, and slowly, slowly opened the door.

Inside the room was several comfortable looking chairs.  The walls were painted in a comforting heather gray and everything was styled in what Water Witch would call "The minimalist approach".  Faint notes of vanilla drifted through the air, making everything feel nice and safe.  It was very different from the last place that claimed to be a psychiatric facility was.  This felt... real.  Phoenix started to relax a little.

A woman seemingly around 30 or 40 years of age stood up from one of the chairs as he entered, a faint smile on her lips.

"Hi, Phoenix, I'm Dr. Amber.  I am very glad you came in.  I know it can be very difficult to take that first step.  Would you like a seat?"  She gestured to the chairs.  Phoenix, still wary, started to walk over to the chair.  Upon closer inspection one of the tables next to the chairs had watercolor supplies on them.

"Well, I'm going to tell you a little bit about myself before we start and then give you the chance to talk.  As I said I'm Doctor Amber.  I have been a resource now for many superheroes who need to talk and heal from whatever they face.  Your lives... they are not the best at fostering healthy mentalities.  I am here to try and help make sure you feel heard, whoever you are.  Some patients have revealed they have worked for me.  You may know their names, Batman, Spiderman, Hit-Girl.  I'm a freelancer, I don't tend to work with those just from one franchise."

Phoenix tilted his head in confusion.  Dr. Amber laughed to herself quietly.  "Sorry, I was just cracking the fourth wall a bit... um, my bad... consider it a metaphor."  At that Phoenix was satisfied, though still confused, and resituated himself in the chair.

"Now, I use a lot of methods to sort of understand and help patients get through things.  From what your friend has mentioned,"  Phoenix bristled at that "You tend to not really enjoy communicating verbally.  That is totally fine, we can do this as you need.  I am always here if and when you want to open up.  For now, though, I figured that maybe you wanted to paint?  It is only the first session, and I want you to know you are safe here."  Phoenix nodded gratefully.  "Well then, here are the materials, I hope you don't mind if I join you."

Together the two of them spent the two-hour-long session painting side by side.  Every now and then Dr. Amber would pipe up, showing phoenix a new technique, or asking questions about various things in the paintings.  The questions seemed harmless and Phoenix would answer casually.  It felt relaxing, in a way that Phoenix hadn't ever really let himself be except when practicing his music alone.  

It was so calm that Phoenix didn't even notice that he signed the painting P216.  At least, not until Dr. Amber went to take a look.  He suddenly reached to rip away the painting, feeling anxiety rising in him.  His breath started to shallow, and the past had never felt so close.  Dr. Amber paused.

"It's fine if you don't want to show me Phoenix.  I just want you to feel safe.  Here, why don't you try this method to calm you down first, before we talk about what has upset you."  Dr. Amber got up and gave him a straw.  "Breathe through this it can help ground you back into reality."  He took the straw and slowly started breathing through it.  In and out.  In and out.  It was funny, he could have sworn he had heard the ticking sound from his cell.  But here, there was none.  Just Dr. Amber next to him guiding him back to the present.  Slowly minute by minute, Phoenix calmed down. 

"Would it be ok if I looked at this painting Phoenix?"  He nodded slowly.  She took it and looked at the painting.  "It is beautiful."  She saw the signature. "Ah.  Was this... your number?"  Phoenix looked away tears filling his eyes.  He nodded.

"They took... everything.  My name.  My soul.  My life."  He took off his sunglasses, staring straight into Dr. Amber's apple-green eyes.  "They made me... me."  He started to cry folding in on himself.

"Phoenix, it's ok.  You are ok.  You made yourself.  You chose to become a hero.  A leader.  They don't define you anymore.  You are you.  Despite what your mind says."  Phoenix looked up at her, listening.

"I am going to help you get through this ok?  We are in this together.  And so are your friends."  Phoenix looked away.  "Water witch, Dark Moon, the... the moose.  They are all here to help you and make sure that you are the hero you want to be.  You just need to open up more and let them."  Phoenix sighed and reached for a tissue, laying on the table.

"Can I stay here?  Just a bit... longer?"

"Of course, until you feel better.  Just let me tell Trish outside."  With that, she left the room to go tell her secretary.  Phoenix watched her leave then looked back at the offending paper.  He picked up a pen and struck out the name P216.  Picking up a silver gel pen nearby he wrote underneath in cursive Phoenix.

"I won't let them define me.  I won't let them anymore." 

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Video by: Johan Quesada

So I didn't think I would do any real notes at the end of this.  But I felt this one was important.  You are not alone.  If you manage to find this story and have read to the end you understand my belief that everyone should talk to someone in some way about what they are feeling, no matter how difficult it is.

If you are contemplating suicide contact this helpline.  They are open 24 hours a day 7 days a week: 1-800-273-8255

Or visit the website https: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Don;t let your mind define you.