Creative Writing: Dark Truths

Dark Truths It was a chilly winter day in late December and as I stood, nearly paralyzed, as my mother left the room, my hands began to fidget twirling one thumb around the other. An inner conflict had begun between my instincts to simply leave the room but the appointment had been scheduled and I needed help. My feet tapped rapidly like a rabbit thumping its feet in preparation to run away from danger. But I couldn’t run, instead I begun to observe the room. The acrid scent of chemicals and cleanliness hit my nose. I was anxiously sitting on, a meager red chair in a modest white room with diagrams of bodies and informational pamphlets covering the walls. As I began to stare at the diagrams my therapist walked in, she was a towering, stylish woman with brown eyes and brown hair who exuded confidence and peace. Her name was Melissa, and she was there to help me to overcome my

As Melissa sat, she offered a hand and asked several questions related to my religious background, views on life, and what I considered I needed the greatest amount of help with. I began to anticipate what she would ask me. In all of the movies I had seen the questions that had deeper meanings and would reveal dark truths about the people receiving treatment. I wondered what dark mystery would be revealed about myself. Her voice was smooth and articulate, and, after noting this, I began stammering out responses like “I’m a Mormon”, and that, “I believe that life is meant to help us all grow and become better”. Wait I thought what if these questions told her something was wrong with me was that how this worked. As she began to find what the root of my issue was I began to inwardly panic what if I was botched further than I knew? What if she couldn’t help me? I pushed through these thoughts and focused instead on analyzing her my eyes roving and sharp. She began trying to move the conversation like an expert salesman sticking at first to the positives and subliminally mentioning