Hi everyone. I will be posting my short story (therapy session) episode by episode in this thread. Constructive criticism is definitely welcomed, and pls excuse the typo errors I write with my phone, and I work so fast (shuffling between blogging, freelancing, and writing) that I dont get to read through and correct the errors sometimes. Bear with me and enjoy the fiction. God blessß

THERAPY SESSION part1

Thoughts raced through my head as I sat across the table staring into the cold eyes of the therapist opposite me.
Skinny, round dark eyes and with a "I know what's in your head" kinda gaze, he sure looked better than me.
I didn't want these sessions, but the war of thoughts and emotions that constantly raged in my head brought me here. This was more like one of those "end of your wits" kinda situation. I knew I needed help, but the man sitting across me didn't even look like someone who could provide what I sought. Its just a therapy session though, what is the worst that could possibly happen ..

...to be continued.

I scanned the room in which we were briefly. The huge shelf standing in a corner contain book which as far as I could tell mostly had "psychology" written on their backs. The room was dimly lit and its haziness brought memories of interrogation rooms in spy movies to me.
Everything in me wanted to leave this place, but the thought of the $10 an hour fee which I had already paid going to waste kept me back, and to think he (the therapist) has only said few words to me for the past 30 mins since I sank into his patient long arm sofa was annoyingly discomforting.
I dug deep trying find a reason why I talked myself into doing this. "Why the hell am I here" I myself. "You scheduled to meet me and discuss your issues" he replied, and only then did I realise I had actually been speaking as supposed to my thought that I was reminiscing.

"So how about you answer the questions I have been asking for the past 10 minutes" he asked. Apparently, he had been talking but I was too carried away to have noticed.
"You asked me questions" I replied acting indifferent to mask my obvious inattention. "What are you going through Mr X" he asked "if you won't tell me what you think the problem is then I can't diagnose what's wrong with you" he continued.
"Diagnose! diagnose!!" this dude had got to be kidding I thought. I might have walked here expecting some professional advice as regarding what was causing the conflicts of thoughts and emotions, but diagnosis was definitely a term I was sure was used for the sick. "I am not sick" I reassured myself or was I?