Early days in therapy I was eager to get on with it so all my unnatural fears would be sorted. I waited for the three words that meant I no longer needed therapy. It was the right thing to see him, but I wanted my family to know I wasn’t crazy and weak. I so wanted it all over and done with.

T was lucky to get a half a dozen words out of me each session for the first year. He kept his head down writing while I spoke. T rarely looked my way when he had something to say, and eye contact was like he could see into my soul. I was too uncomfortable to let him see how I felt.

T played the game anyway, and made the fifty minutes as bearable has possible.
I pulled out my pocket full of stick figure drawings describing how I felt in my world.
It seemed T had control of my brain as I sat stunned trying to make sense of where I was in my life.

At first, I wasn’t taught too many psych words and not that many later either. He didn’t like to use labels, or psych words. I don’t think I would have been too much into them anyway. The connection we had was all that mattered to me. I was afraid, and he knew it.

Often me and two other patients sat in the waiting room grasping our paper agenda's. Mine consisted of stuff I thought would be relevant in session. It was a safe way of avoiding nasty feelings that might have been thrown my way.

Post session had me going over it, and trying to figure it out like maths. I was never good at maths, and found it very difficult to understand complicated stuff like anxiety was fear and anger, and hostile was the way I felt towards my mother and sister. I wrote this all down and looked at it like a jig saw puzzle. I wasn’t a very talkative person at the best of times so articulating myself and my feelings was near impossible, especially in session.

When I told him his office colours were pooh like that was the first time I saw him laugh. I was game enough then to elaborate on why I thought that. The walls, air con, desk, carpet, even his desk clock were all different shades of brown. T gave the excuse of not wanting his office full of distractions. When I felt uncomfortable in session, I spoke more to his clock than to him. I still do.