The following week...
Your POV
"Hi, I'm Dr. Chase. It's very nice to meet you," the psychiatrist said to me and shook my hand.
"I'm Y-Y/N, but you already knew that," I said nervously.
"So this is an hour session. All we're going to do is talk. I'm going to be writing a few things down and at any time you feel like it becomes too much, we can stop and take a break," she said as we sat down. I just nodded.
"So, Y/N, where are you from?" she asked.
"I'm from New Orleans. Uptown."
"Really, my husband is from there."
"The best city."
"How was your childhood?"
"It was great up till my dad got sick."
"You were adopted right?" she asked and I nodded, "I wanna kind of side track. When did you know you were adopted?"
"When I was about four, I always denied that Beyoncé was my mom. I mean she was Beyoncé. Until I looked at my parents and didn't see myself in them. It just clicked."
"How did you feel?"
"Felt unwanted."
"Why?"
"I mean why wouldn't I? My mother just gave me away. Anyone would feel unwanted."
"How do you feel now?"
"I feel loved and wanted."
"That's great. Now I'd like for you to finish telling about your childhood."
"Okay. Growing up, I had parents that love me. My dad was my best friend. We always played together. We were the same. He didn't care that I was intersex. I was his little girl and that was that mattered to him. My mom was my cuddle buddy. She gave the best hugs. They just made me feel amazing. Finding out I was adopted, threw off everything. I felt the need to be perfect. They had chose me. I didn't want them to feel like they made the wrong choice. At four, I was waking myself up, making myself cereal and I just turned to a little robot. 'Yes, ma'am. No ma'am. Yes, sir. No, sir.' When my dad got sick, I did everything. I cooked. I cleaned. I was hurting, but I couldn't understand why."
"Did you feel the need to be perfect with everyone?"
"At first I didn't, but eventually I did."
"Where you there for Katrina?"
"Unfortunately, I was there."
"What happened? Can you take me back to that day?"
"Uh, yeah. I remember hearing my adoptive dad's coughing and my mom. She was trying to call her dad because he had my little brother, but couldn't get in touch with him. The levees were blown up. Water started basically pouring in. It was rising so fast. So we had to get out of the water. We went to the attic like everyone did. Water was still rising. There was a hole in the roof big enough for me to get out, so they helped me out. My dad's cough got worse. It's almost like their was something in the air that he was allergic to..." I said my words kind of slurred. I felt myself slipping away.
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switching
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No Name's POV
"I'd really like to not talk about this shit anymore," I told the psychiatrist.
"Uh, Y/N-"
"I'm not Y/N."
