Autobiography-Ad Vitam Paramus

This will be in installments

I was late. I was always late. I was in such a hurry that I completely missed the sign on the door which screamed “counsellor” at me. I rushed past the door and then, realising my mistake, I retraced my steps and hesitated outside the room.

This is it, I thought, I’m going to talk to a complete stranger about me. It was the one thing I’d promised myself I’d never do, the one thing I’d told myself I’d never need. I was completely betraying my own self-trust in doing this. For years I’d promised myself that I did not need this. All those years had been a waste of time, because here I stood, standing outside a counsellor’s office, nerves jangling around in my stomach and my hands shaking. This was my second attempt at this, I’d completely freaked the first time and had bunked my appointment. I couldn’t let myself do that again, mainly out of a strange sense of politeness to the counsellor… to some woman I’d never met before. All of these thoughts flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds. I wanted to turn and run away, wimp out. But despite this, my hand crept up to the door and tapped tentatively on the frosted glass. Too late to run now, I thought.

“Hello?” A womans voice answered from behind the door, it sounded friendly but overly inviting. I didn’t trust it. I gently pushed the door open and practically peered through the slowly widening gap. I stepped through the door and hesitated just inside the room. The woman was probably in her middle to late fifties, long, coarse, grey hair with a blunt cut fringe and a lined face. Glasses perched on the end of her nose. I trusted the way she looked no more than I trusted her voice. She smiled at me and briefly checked a piece of paper in front of her. She looked up. I was still waiting by the door, not yet ready to move into the room, that would mean I’d have to admit defeat and succumb to my situation.

“Annie isn’t it? Won’t you sit down?” The woman asked. Such an odd question. Shouldn’t it be “Will you sit down?” My mind rambled to itself, begging for some inane relief, an escape, a reason to not concentrate on the here and now. I moved to sit on an uncomfortable chair in the corner. It was the sort you find in Dr’s offices with that dull, lifeless blue padding which offers no relief to aching bones.

“I’m Christine, I just need you to fill out a consent form, Annie, and then we can get started with the session, OK?” I nodded dumbly. I’d already filled out the exact same form when I’d booked the appointment. I didn’t bother telling her that, after all, while I wrote I didn’t have to speak. And that, I told myself, was definitely a good thing.