After a brief silence, my therapist swung a leg over the other and began to speak.
"I know that you know. I want to help support you further, as these sessions clearly aren't enough." She uttered.
My therapists name was Hannah. Her glossy brown hair was tied in a side ponytail, sitting loosely on her relaxed shoulders in which were draped in a dark blue chunky knit cardigan.
I could never fully comprehend her body structure, as she constantly wore nothing but floaty clothing.
Me and my mother glanced at Eachother simultaneously.
Hannah smiled slightly, and sat up in her chair.
"I'd like to book you with a psychiatrist in replacement for our next session. I'll be there too, I just think that with her profession she should be able to prescribe you some form of medication to increase your low mood."
With that, my moping head shot up. Of course, it shot down a millisecond after, but my optimism was clear.
I zoned out as my mum and Hannah arranged and booked for our next meeting, only just noticing Hannah was reaching for her pale yellow leather bag to retrieve her work phone.
My minds thoughts darted around my head, bouncing off my skull to be thought of in more depth. Things could get better, right? Or would they simply be inefficient? My creeping smile soon drifted, and I found myself being bought back into the real world when I heard my mother rise from her chair, the leather seat releasing a painful squeak as she stood.
"Thank you Hannah!" My mum chirped, head held up high.
I smiled weakly at Hannah as we departed the old gusty room.
YOU ARE READING
I talk to my therapist about you
RandomA teen girl had been battling a severe fight with the demon of depression for several years, with her strong protective partner to push her to succeed. But when she acts upon destructive thoughts, will he still be promising unconditional love?
