Damaged - N.H.

10

The day dragged on forever. Niall called me a couple of times throughout the day, but I didn't bother to answer or call him back. I did send him a text letting him know that I would call when I got home. I knew the nature of the conversation we would be having and I couldn't afford to be any more emotional than I already was while at work, so as hard as it was, I had to wait. I did managed to conduct myself professionally today though, and no one seemed to think anything was wrong. Or I was so much of a train wreck already that people just didn't notice anymore.

I was up half the night thinking about the conversation I had with Liam, so I texted him after I arrived at work this morning and asked if he could recommend someone for me to talk to. He immediately sent me the phone number of a local therapist that he's used before, so on my lunch break I called to make an appointment.

 Lucky for me, they had an opening this evening after I got off work. I wasn't expecting to set something up so soon, but I was anxious to get it over with. Talking to Niall could wait a little longer. As nervous as I was to share my experiences with a complete stranger, I was hoping to get some answers. So after work, I went straight to the therapist's office.

I sat in the waiting room for a grand total of five minutes before the therapist came out to greet me. He was average height, probably in his forties with dark hair and dark eyes. He smiled at me when I looked up at him.

"Ms. Carson?" He asked.

"Julie." I replied, smiling back and standing up to shake his hand.

"I'm Rob. Come on in."

I followed him back to his office and sat down on a couch across from him.

"So, what brings you in?" He asked.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat. "It's kind of a long story."

"Try me." He replied.

So I did. I told him about the nightmares I was having and my past with Chad. I didn't elaborate too much on my relationship with Niall because that was a whole other story in itself. He would occasionally stop me to ask a question but for the most part, he remained quiet as I finished my story.

Forty-five minutes later, I was finally finished. With what I thought was important to tell him, at least. After asking me a few more questions, he started writing on his notepad and when he was finished, he tore off the slip of paper and handed it to me. It had a name and phone number on it.

"What's this?" I asked, looking back up at him.

"That is the phone number for Dr. Craton's office. He's a Psychiatrist. I'm recommending you speak with him." He replied.

"Why?" I asked nervously.

"Psychiatrists are better equipped to deal with cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I think you may have it. I would love to help, but I think it would benefit you more to set up an appointment with Dr. Craton. He'll be able to confirm a diagnoses and find the right treatment for you." He explained.

"Wait...you think I have PTSD? Isn't that for people that have gone to war and stuff?" I said, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"It's common for veterans and active duty military, yes. But you can acquire PTSD from many different scenarios. It's not strictly military related."

I wasn't sure what to expect when I came here, but it wasn't that. I sat silently for a moment, trying to process what was happening.

"I'm sure this is a lot for you to take in, but I assure you that Dr. Craton is more than capable of helping you learn to cope with this. You'd be in good hands."