Midday, the sun lightly streaming through windows with blinds. It created a strangely striped room, dividing different segments into light and darkness. His therapist- eugh- moved to open one of the windows, eager to see the room be as bright as possible. Connor winced as his pupils adjusted, throwing a single hand up to protect his vision.

"Oh! Sorry, you can move if you'd like!" she suggested with a bubbly tone of voice; one that Connor felt was practiced. "Sorry didn't mean to just blast you like that." She gestured with her hands, recreating the blast, even though Connor had just experienced it.


To say the experience was irksome was an incredible understatement. Connor was still stigmatized that seeing a therapist somehow meant something was wrong with you. That seeing a therapist meant you were crazy, meant you needed help. It didn't help that Connor didn't like depending on other people- he didn't like talking about his problems because he wanted to pretend they just didn't exist.

Yet there he was, slammed in the almost-too-comfortable couch of a therapist's office. "So we're going to just start with some basic forms- things like your name and address, no big deal hun."

Connor vaguely wondered why the forms he filled out yesterday didn't count, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to cause a ruckus. "Yeah sure, sure," he said, grabbing the cream-colored form and clipboard from the woman's hand, filling out the information. It was quiet for a moment or two while he filled out the basic information.

"Okay now we're going to get some things out of the way first thing," she said with a smile. "So first of all I'd like to suggest keeping a little journal of your progress. I know journaling isn't for everyone, but I really think this kind of thing can help people.

"Journal? Like ... how?" Connor asked, not sure what she meant. "Like a dear diary Johnny smiled at me kind of thing?"

The therapist laughed, a pleasant sort of sound. "Oh no, nothing like that- unless you want to of course! No, what I mean is a ... an emotions journal. Whenever you want to, just write down how you're feeling. It could be after every therapy session, it could be before you go to bed. No one will penalize you for not writing in it, and I'm certainly not going to look over it and grade it." She laughed again, and Connor found himself smiling alongside her. She had a nice, soothing way of talking. "Basically, when people begin therapy, it often seems like there's no way out of whatever you're going through, but a journal is a wonderful way to keep track of your progress."

Connor gave a non-committal shrug, thinking that the idea sounded both interesting and kind of embarassing. The therapist smiled, used to this sort of response and said, "Well, we have some starter journals near the door if you want to take one when you leave. They're actually kind of cool; they have little prompts in them to get you going. You can ignore the prompts if you want too- you can do whatever you want."

That sounded pretty nice, Connor supposed. Something easy enough. He would probably take one on the way out just because he was too passive to pass the opportunity up, but whether or not he'd actually write in it was another quest entirely. "Sounds cool," was all he admitted. That was truthful enough.

The therapist once again smiled and said, "Right! So now that we've aired out that laundry, tell me a bit about yourself ..."