She knew everything about me because we’d talked almost every week for the lastfive years. How was I supposed to start over? It took me so long to even trust her. How would I trust anybody again? She quite literally knew all the worst about me. I had to pay somebody to get to that point.
Sweat prickled under my armpits.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I asked.
“Have you considered again seeking out your primary care doctor to talk about medication since we discussed?—”
I shook my head. I didn’t want medication. I just needed to be better. It was all in my head, and guess who ran that show? Me. I had to fix this.
“There’s absolutely no shame?—”
“No. I know. I know plenty of people whose lives are a million times better because of the drugs that rebalance the chemicals in their brain,” I said.
But not me. I needed to be better, to get my shit together. I just had to try harder. Even though it felt like I was trying so hard all the time, it wasn’t enough.
“I know it’s scary, but progress can only happen if you start making some serious changes in your life one way or the other,” Dr. Spinner said. “Exposure therapy might really be necessary, and I can’t force you to do that. You are going to have towantto do that. I want you to find peace and safety in your life, Sophie.”
“I want to change. I really do,” I said, finally able to meet her eyes in the camera.
“I know you do. And I want to remind you how far you’ve come already. You haven’t had a panic attack in years. You helpyour grandma down in the shop from time to time. You are getting better.”
“I feel so stupid. And ashamed,” I admitted, voice cracking.
“What you feel isreal, Sophie.”
“I feel like people think I’m making my anxiety up because it’s impossible to see. Like if I ever tried to explain this to somebody, they would think I’m an immature, socially stunted adult.”
“Your brain is in protective mode to the point of debilitation. It needs help to get better, and there is nothing wrong with that. You have no control over other people’s opinions. You wouldn’t call someone with a broken leg a faker.”
“Yeah, but their cast would make it seem real.” I bit my lip to keep from letting the tears well. I refused to cry. Refused. I was already beyond mortified. It wasn’t fair how my brain betrayed me. It was a horrible design flaw.
“Your brain thinks it’s keeping you safe. Because of the stuff in your past and possibly a predisposition in your family history, your brain is wired for social anxiety.” I grabbed the tissue in my hand and twisted it as she went on. “But you and I both know you aren’t faking it. You aren’t silly or wrong. Your brain feels very unsafe when it leaves its comfort zone. That is as real as any other broken limb.”
I nodded, throat tight and chin trembling.
“I want to change,” I said, voice soft but firm. I was so tired of living in fear. I was so tired of being a prisoner of my own mind. I wanted to move through the world like everyone else. I wanted to simply exist without overthinking every single thing. I wanted to have a brain that encouraged me instead of outlining every single bad thing that could possibly go wrong, like some sort of twisted, alternate universe Doctor Strange.
“I have a suggestion,” she said.
I sniffled and looked up with a nod for her to go on, even though she’d already broken my heart.
“I encourage you to write out a list of things you want to do. Don’t overthink it. Just list all those things, big or small, that you always talk about doing. Write them out as they come to you. It doesn’t matter if you think that it’s something a quote ‘normal person’ should do. These are things that you’ve thought you should want to do, or even that you have to do, to check off a list. Like, did you ever make that dentist appointment?”
My cheeks burned with shame as I shook my head. It was one of the hundred little tasks that weighed on my shoulders, pulling me down like chains of shame and self-recrimination.
“It’s okay, Sophie. It really is. It’s going to be okay. That was just an example. You also mentioned that charity dance that the local firefighters are putting on.” I looked up to the calendar that hung above my desk.
A shirtless hottie winked back at me.
An image flashed into my brain: me in a gown being twirled on the dance floor like some heroine in a historical romance novel while a handsome figure looked down at me like I’d turned his world upside down.
That was the ultimate impossible dream of mine, but the steps that it would take to get me in those strong arms, dancing in front of a room of people, was equivalent to me waking up and deciding to climb Mount Everest in the clothes on my back with no training.
“You’re working on getting better all the time. You have to be nice to yourself because this is going to be challenging,” Dr. Spinner said, breaking me from my reverie.
I nodded, leg bouncing, as I tried to not let the tears welling in my eyes spill over.
“Maybe start with something you perceive as being the easiest to tackle and work up to the largest, most fretfulchallenges. You don’t have to share this list with me. You don’t have to share it with anybody. This is for yourself.”
