The first session
Here I was, waiting for my therapist to call me into the room to talk about my problems, yet again. I’ve had way too many terrible experiences with these people trained with resolving deep psychological problems. If this one would not be able to help me resolve mine, than it would also be the last one to try so. Fumbling with my thumbs I was looking at a weirdly beautiful painting hanging on the wall right in front of me. The painting was an old Victorian portrait of a gorgeous young woman staring right into the eyes of the perceiver, which now happened to be me. After being lost in her bright blue eyes for more than a short moment the door of my therapist opens, and out she walks, calling my name. I froze, not out of fright, but out of astonishment. The girl who opened the door and said my name so gently, she can’t be my therapist, she is way too beautiful to be! How could anyone even try to focus on what she would be telling them in their sessions, let alone me.