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Smile.I've always wondered how therapists could be so disconnected from the people they see.
I suppose, after a while, all the different stories just become noise.
And it's not like the tone changes all that much.
'oh, my wife cheated on me.'
'oh, my life's a mess.'
'oh, i don't feel accepted.'
As i stare at this white bearded man from my horizontal position on the couch, I realize he doesn't really care about what my story is.
All he wants to do is find a way to shut me up.
Just like everyone else in the world.
"So." His voice echoes through the silent room, filled with pictures of his family and documents with words printed on them too long for me to even comprehend. "Tell me, How've you been since we've last spoken?"
My attention turns to the white drywall ceiling straight ahead of me, the twisting and folding shapes of the shadows against the irregular patterns of slightly raised material remind me of the nights I used to have as a child.
Nothing but my teddy bear to keep
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