roses. | eren x levi

roses. | twenty-four

"you have to place more value on yourself, eren."

"i do place value on myself. are you suggesting i get the surgery?" i questioned alena.

"i'm not suggesting anything. i just think that you ought to think more about it before risking your entire livelihood just for a man that may or may not love you before it's too late. there's plenty of fish in the sea, eren!"

"that's what everyone says. did you know there are more than a thousand endangered fish species?"

she ticked her pen. "just what exactly are you trying to say?"

"i'm saying that i may never find someone else. i don't believe there's anyone in this world right now that can match his beauty, his caring and precious personality, there's nobody as selfless as him."

"you're head over heels for him, eren. don't you want to live?"

i sank back in the seat. "i don't care that much about living or dying. it's just one quick switch."

alena started writing, which annoyed me all the further, though it was her responsibility, so i didn't say anything.

"ah, okay. still, eren, your life is valuable and shouldn't be wasted. if you get the surgery, you just won't have feelings for him anymore. you can still talk to him."

"i want to have feelings for him."

alena nodded and examined the time. "well, you must be off, yes? and please, please, please, please, consider the surgery. it will save your life, literally."

"i've already considered it enough and i've already made my decision, alena. i believe you especially most equipped to believe that. thank you for the time." i said irritably and got up.

i collected my possessions and left.

this therapy didn't appear to be accomplishing for me.

i didn't prize the concept of dropping everything to this aimless person who's thought to not own their beliefs, plainly for them to scrutinize my selections exactly as a commoner would, and anticipate a result?

i didn't feel comforted anymore. i didn't believe i had conclusively let something off of my chest. i felt incompetent, ineffectual.

i felt like i was feeble-minded to even imagine my layout of activity to be thoroughly produced for myself, to perform upon it. i should get that scholarly operation, and acknowledge my enthusiasms for mr. rose will disintegrate and decay.

i thought that i desperately was required to grant my incomplete memoir to my therapist, for her to command all aspects of it because i was too extravagantly senseless to take accountability for myself.

this is healing. this is exorbitance.

healing is shameful.