Therapy Session II

-Karen-

I hate doing this. I don’t know which is worse—this or my job. I sighed on the couch.

I want to go home.

My therapist looked up at me with his notes. “So how are you today?”

I sighed. “Awful.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Did something happen today?”

“Not really.”

“You just don’t want to be here?”

“No.”

“Then why do you come here?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I have no choice.” I started to hate myself. Again.

“Well, that is good.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re getting help. That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“I think it is.”

I snorted. “It doesn’t feel it.”

“It takes time.” Heh. Time. I hate that word now.

“I don’t have much of that anymore.”

“Neither do I.” He didn’t give me a chance to speak.

“Which is why I am making the most of it. You should too.”

Heh. Easy for him to say. I rolled my eyes. “How’s your daughter?”

“Fine. She is doing fine.”

“Oh.” How long have I been here? I want to go home. I lifted my chin.

“How long have I been here?”

“Two minutes.”

I stared at him with big eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

I sat back and groaned. And I have twenty-eight more minutes to go. Please kill me now!