Therapy is hands down one of the most awkward experiences a human being might ever endure. Now please note, I never said it was the worst. That would be ignorant to say. Obviously, there are countless things that are realistically worse than something as mundane as going to therapy, but there's just something embarrassing about sitting in front of a stranger, and spilling all of your thoughts and misgivings in an effort to 'fix' you. It's as if you can't be trusted with yourself as a person.
Sitting on a damn chair in front of Dr. Sean Garrison was that awkward moment for me. I'm not sure what I looked like from his point of view. I hoped I was cool, calm, collected. Unflappable, even. In my heart though, I knew I wasn't special. I more than likely looked like the other countless fidgety, uncertain patients that had been stuck in front of him.
"Are you uncomfortable, Bellamy?"
Yeah, to receive that question, I definitely came off as a jumpy teenager.
Dr. Garrison was a man with thick blonde hair and immaculate taste in clothes. Seriously, that dapper fuck could rock a $3000 Versace suit. That much should be said. I wouldn't even know what to do with myself in threads like that. What kind of therapist could afford those kinds of clothes to go to work in?
I cleared my throat from where I chose to lay down and relax during my session, "I'm fine, doctor," I said, "Just... trying to adjust. I'm not really good at talking about myself, which is all this is going to be."
I did not feel like spilling my guts and divulging all of my insecurities and whatnot to some random-ass psychiatrist just because it was school-mandated. Bellamy Marcher did not get down like that.
Dr. Garrison didn't seem bothered by anything I'd said, "Well, it doesn't have to be. Not necessarily. I don't expect you to trust me just like that. If you find it strange to try and open up, we can ease into that. Do you know why you find it hard to talk about yourself?"
Okay, so we were going to jump right into the deep end of my being an asshole huh? Well, feet first we go, "Because in my personal experience, most of the time, the people who really care about your problems can't help you, and the people who can help you really don't care about your problems," I said honestly, "There's no point to talking about your feelings. It's like a placebo effect. It doesn't really solve anything."
Dr. Garrison took note of what I'd said. Yeah, he should have underlined it too, for emphasis. I believed every word, "Interesting. Your file says you lead a squad of fellow students. That's an odd way of thinking for a leader to have."
Maybe, but that was how things were. I was who I was, "I'm not an emotional problem-solver. I'm better when the issues are something I can touch and deal with in the real world, you know? Give me a solution I can get my hands on... think about. That's when I'm fine."
Dr. Garrison's eyebrows rose in interest, "Oh, could you tell me more about some of those situations? It sounds like you feel comfortable when you're presented with a problem."
I went to give him some examples of problems that I'd managed to work out, only to stop when I figured out that I couldn't.
I wasn't actually proud of any of the things I'd dealt with. Other people were. I never talked myself up about the enemies I'd fought. Other people did. My cocky bullshit usually never came from the events I had been a part of, because I openly recognized my own failure in those situations.
I couldn't save other people when it counted. My own teacher wound up lost in space trying to save the planet because I couldn't get the job done myself.
"Bellamy?"
I found myself too caught up in my own thoughts and went too long without answering his question, "I... I..." I struggled with keeping things to myself. Normally I wouldn't have said a thing, but the words just came out. "I'm not as good at it as I'd like to be," I said before gagging at the half-assed spiel that had just come out of my mouth, "No... actually, I suck."
I was catching him off-guard with what I was saying. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, "You don't agree with the decision to make you the team leader?"
Not really. I never said it after the choice had been made, but I'd thought about it a lot since then. I was the best option. That was all there was to it, "Out of everyone on the team, I'm the only one who could have done it. And it was the last thing Miss Pryde really asked me to do before she disappeared," I said, "I love my team, and I respect her too much to say she made a mistake. But... I don't know."
What did it matter if he knew what I was thinking? What exactly was he going to do with it? Tell Mister Summers and Miss Frost? What did that matter?
Dr. Garrison set his notes aside, lacing his hands together in his lap before he addressed what I had just told him, "Bellamy, I don't know enough about you to give you any advice yet. Right now, all I can do is hear you out and listen to what you have to say," "It seems like that's what you might need more than anything else right now."
He was right. It felt good to say these things. It felt good to let things out from someone that wasn't going to see me during my day-to-day ordeals. I didn't have to be strong, or seem like I knew what I was doing. All I had to do was what I was good at doing in the first place – run my mouth.
Perhaps this therapy crap wouldn't be so bad after all.