My last day of therapy often replays in my mind. That day was important though. It gave me an idea of what I wanted to spend my life doing.
After struggling with anxiety disorder and depression, I was sent to therapy. Walking into the appointment that day, I had no idea it would be the last.
Sitting down in front of my therapist, the usual topics were discussed: how I had been doing, what was new, or any issues. After filling him in on everything that had happened since the last week we spoke, the conversation died. The once lively room was dead silent, the ticking of the clock on the pale wall being the only noise as the seconds ticked by at an agonizingly slow rate. That ticking grew intimidating.
There had to be something to bring
After struggling with anxiety disorder and depression, I was sent to therapy. Walking into the appointment that day, I had no idea it would be the last.
Sitting down in front of my therapist, the usual topics were discussed: how I had been doing, what was new, or any issues. After filling him in on everything that had happened since the last week we spoke, the conversation died. The once lively room was dead silent, the ticking of the clock on the pale wall being the only noise as the seconds ticked by at an agonizingly slow rate. That ticking grew intimidating.
There had to be something to bring