I treated my visits to the mental health office like I was a drug dealer going to make her next sell or a prostitute going to meet her pimp. I didn't want anyone to know what I was doing and would make every attempt possible for no one to know what I was doing.
It was a confessional I could control. The sessions lasted an hour each and the person greeting me wasn't hiding behind a window.
Two arm chairs stood in the corner of the room. A small red pillow lied in one while the other stared blankly. I couldn't help but wonder if the setting was intentional. One side offered comfort while the other was completely alone.
And while my first visit to a therapist's office was almost two years ago, that is the one thing that I've never forgotten.
Why did I go for the red pillow?
The things I exposed in this white, cubicle like office weren't anything dark. I went over the basics. "My name is (insert response)." "I'm from (insert response)." "I like to (insert response)."
It was a speech I learned to perfect.
But as every visit passed my speech kept rewriting itself. I knew all the basics and I would recite all the basics. And somehow, I began to walk out of this 4x4 crying every week.
It was traumatizing.
Why was I getting punished for doing "the right thing?"
This thing I had -- depression -- was like a fog that hovered over my entire body. But every visit served as the cleanse. I couldn't wash these thoughts and emotions until I had the right thing to wash them with -- therapy.
Therapy is the one thing you don't want to tell anyone.
"What'd you do yesterday?" "I went to see my therapist."
That's one heck of a conversation starter.
But the thing is, therapy IS a conversation starter with the one thing that matters the most -- you.
It will always be uneasy to tell people you visit a therapist. Once you are able to do so, though, is when you'll truly be able to find comfort with yourself. And it like that, that you too will finally be able to sit in the side without the red pillow.