You're Not Enough

Chapter 8

"It's so nice to meet you, Jayda, finally," the blue-eyed lady says. Please take a seat. she stretches her hand out towards the leather white couch. I walk over to the seat, "I've heard so much about you. She has a massive smile on her face like she's actually pleased to meet me.

"Good things, I hope." I say sarcastically while rolling my eyes.

"Actually, yes."She shoots back, not breaking her gaze.

I raise my eyebrow, doubting, "Really?"

"Yes. I heard you have a great personality, actually."

Is she trying to be funny?

She smiles. I guess she was. "I also heard you can write."

"I write, but I don't think it's all that." I say to the oddly familiar lady. Have I seen her before? Something about her mannerism.

"Well, I beg to differ."My brother spoke highly of you and your writing.

"Brother?" I question her raising my eyebrow.

"Oh, your parents didn't tell you. I'm Dale's sister."

It clicks soon as she says it. They look just like one another. That's why she looks familiar. They both have bright blue eyes and brown hair. No, they didn't tell me. They don't tell me anything, so it isn't a surprise.

"Do they do that often? Keep things from you?"She asks. God, I hate therapists. That's all they do is ask questions. They spent four years in college and spent 80,000 dollars yearly to get a certificate that gives them the legal right to inquire about personal information.

"You dont have to answer that right now. But you will have to later on in our sessions. But since this is our first session, I don't want to talk about anybody else but you."

"What do you want to know? I'm an open book, or dare I say open folder." A grin comes across my face at my comment. I look down at the open folder that's on the table.

It's the record of my life. Everything about me is in that one paper folder. Granted, it looks like it's about sixty pages are stuffed in there. But it's everything, from the time I first started cutting and went to my first therapy session to when I ended up at A Second Chance Mental Health Facility till now.

The folder will only grow and grow, the more I attend sessions. But I find peace in knowing that one day it will stop, one day there will be nothing more to write about me.

My eyes begin to water, but I hold back the tears. I don't want her to see me cry. I've been sitting here lost in my thoughts. She hasn't even said a word. I'm still staring at the folder.

"You know what!" Rachel hops out of her chair and grabs the folder from the table. She walks over and tosses into a trash can. My eyes go wide. Can she do that? She sits back across from me. You're not an open book. "Those words on those papers aren't who you are. It's what we see. They don't define you. I want to know who Jayda King is. The real Jayda King."

I shrug my shoulders. I don't know. My words come out shaky. "I don't know who the real me is,"

"Well, we will find that out. I don't believe anything except for one thing," She gets up again and walks over to her desk. It's messy. She fumbles through a lot of paperwork but then finds what she is looking for. "I asked my Brother to fax over to me a brief description of you and what I should expect. I asked him for one page," she states, "He sent me two instead." Of course, a description of me can't fit on one page, "On the first page, he told me everything about you from his point of view. He gave me a little background information on you."

"What was on the last page?" I ask, intrigued.

She hands me the 2nd page.

It reads in large writing it reads,

JAYDA KING CAN BE SAVED.