40- The Therapist

                                        

                                              
This was a deadass idea!
I sat down in the waiting area outside the door of Dr. Ivy Jones clinic. My foot tapping on the ground, my tote bag clutched to my chest. How deranged I had to be to do therapy sessions the second time after the ones with Miss Thapa years ago? Would this seriously patch me up? Was I spending my beloved money on the right thing (despite the discount)? These thoughts screwed my head like a damn mixie, filling me with doubt and anxiety. Kylie's persistence was the only reason I was here. Else she wouldn't let me hear the end of it. 
“Miss Natasha Patil. You're next.” The blond receptionist called my name after the previous patient exited the clinic. I gulped, tightening my grip on the bag before letting it go.
“Yes. Okay.” I gave a curt nod and entered the clinic. Here goes nothing. 
I settled down the beige cushioned chair and swiveled my eyes across the room. With walls and furniture dressed in warm earthy colors and potted plants besides the table, the room looked less like a clinic and more like a room at home. Doctor Ivy Jones was an ebony woman in her forties with brown braided hairstyle in her blue formals and a pair of diamond shaped earrings extending near her chin. At first, we talked about Kylie who Ivy described as a ‘sweet little pixie’. Though she expressed her condolences on failing Kylie's sorry habit of apologising relentlessly. We both chuckled at that. 
Then Dr. Ivy started off with the basic mundane questions about me, job and background. Followed by  questions like how I was feeling lately, what I was expecting out of therapy, challenges, yada, yada. I answered while she jotted down notes on her digital tab.
“Don't you get tired of asking the same questions again and again with that big smile on your face?” I couldn't help but open my fat, whorish mouth. I raised my hands in surrender when Ivy squinted her eyes through her rimmed glasses. “Just curious, ma'am.”
She laughed in her slightly deep voice. “This ma'am doesn't really mind. Not when she gets different answers in return.” 
“Ah, makes sense.” I nodded. Silence followed and I willed my cynical side to get the better of me again. “So like, you'll jot down points based on our conversation and dissect me like an insect. And bam, blame it all on sweet childhood... Sorry, you told me to ask anything so...” 
“Uh-huh, that's what I was gonna do. How did you know?” Ivy replied, sarcasm dripping off from each word. She chuckled again, putting her tab aside. “It's okay, child. As I said, this is a safe space without judgement. You can speak to your heart's content here...  Why do you think most issues boil down to childhood, hmm?” 
“Probably 'cause the brain is developing. Something about the pre- frontal cortex...” I shrugged. 
“Answered like a true science student. Yes, the pre-frontal cortex isn't developed until twenty-five,” She replied, poking her head. “Both mental and emotional learning majorly happens during childhood and teenage. Brain is like a sponge at that time— it absorbs everything around them and adapts it. This forms an emotional brain circuit. However, if a child is often exposed to abuse, neglect, fear or something that doesn't contribute to their well-being, then the brain rewires for survival. Those become our default settings, leading to complications in the future.” 
“Wow, that's... deep.” I said, sinking her words in. 
“However, not all issues are tied to childhood. Clients also experience unfortunate events during adulthood. In the end, childhood is the root, not the whole tree.” 
The session continued. Miss Ivy answered my questions like a champ while asking about the basic stuff and dynamics with my family and friends. I guess she could very well account my fuck-ups from there as she kept scribbling with her digital pen.