2. So, What Do You Think About That
The unbearable silence was filling the small observation room like gas in a death chamber, the agony of this so called therapy was beginning to be something I could no longer take. "So how have you been this week?" Debra asked in her inside voice, "I've been okay", I responded quietly. "Hmm and what do you mean by that?" she ever so perceptively questioned. "Uhmm, average I guess". We went through this awkward routine nearly every meeting, I found it gave me a strange and small sense of security. My anxiety, depression and headaches had been next to deathly today, and this meeting gave a slight suggestion of peacefulness, I had been working on checking my appearance less, being less obsessed with my inevitably flawed reflection in my pocket mirror, and so I left all my mirrors at home. However I don't think I made much progress as the urge to check how I looked lingered in every though I had and every look someone gave me, it had become so significant that when a teacher refused to allow me to go to the bathroom, I had used a pair of scissors to cut my finger in order to be able to get out of the classroom to check in the toilets mirror. By the end of the day I had a plaster on four of my fingers.