"Love yourself"

I had a session today.

I went into Paul's office and looked across the desk at him. His beard was a few days too short and his hair was a day too late in need of washing. He wiped his nose with the heel of his hand before sorting out his paperwork. I crossed my legs in the chair bowed from years of fat arses.

- So, Dylan, I see that you've tried hypnotherapy in the past.
- To help me quit smoking.
- I see... and was it successful?
- Paul, I smoke six packs a week. What do you think?
- Ok, so no progress there. Have you tried some positive affirmation?
- No, and I'll be honest, it already sounds like absolute bullshit.

To his credit, he laughed at that. That was something.

- Just give it a try, Dylan. It can't hurt. It might help.

I rolled my eyes. I took a piece of paper off his desk and started to rip off little squares.

- I'd rather you didn't do that.

I didn't look up at him. I know the rules. Therapists aren't allowed to touch us. He can ask me nicely, but as he's told me SO many times, this is a Safe Space. He can't make me do anything that I don't want to. So I didn't stop. He huffed a little and straightened up the paperwork that was still in front of him. It was a very small victory but I was still glad of it. I rolled the squares into pellets and began trying to flick them at the edge of the desk.

- Ok, Dylan, I think we've made as much progress as we're going to, I can see that you're not paying attention.
- What was your first clue, doctor?
- Dylan... I want you to go back to your room, look at me Dylan,

I obliged.

- I want you to go back to your room, and every morning and every evening look at yourself in the mirror and I want you to say this:

You are loved. You are wanted. You are needed. I want you to get better.

Can you do that for me, Dylan?

- Surely, doctor, I'm doing it for ME.
- Whatever your reasons. Do you remember...
- Yeah, yeah, lovey, wanting, needy, getting better, blah, blah, blah. I'm going.

Suddenly his "open door" policy made sense. There are just some days where I can't be bothered to humour him. I got out of the cavernous seat and made my way towards the door, placing my fingertips in the handle.

- What about our next session, Miss Leigh?

I drew my hand away and walked back to his desk. I picked up a pile of papers and threw them into the air.

- Next time, I'll inhale the planet.

I told him. And then I left. I don't know why I did it, and I don't know why I said it. But, for what it's worth, I was blisteringly happy that I did.

When I got back to my room someone had made my bed for me. That always felt so bloody ironic. They hammered that metaphor home far too heavily. A tiny piece of order in a place where every mind was falling to pieces. I went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror.

- You are loved. You are wanted. You are needed. I want you to get better.

The words felt like ash on my tongue. Soft. Dry. Disgusting. Out of nowhere, bile rose in my throat and I bend over the sink to vomit. Well, I won't be eating the chicken kiev again in a hurry.