"At some point your going to have to open up a bit more Eishi, holding in your thoughts, especially towards those who are trying to help you is only going to come back to haunt you. Either way that's all the time that we have for this session. When you come back next week, please think about some of the things we've discussed. I'm worried about you", My therapist crowed as our time was ending.
There it was, that look of worry and pity, her words rang true and I knew it well, but why did she have to look at me like that afterward. I hated that look and she knew it. I've told her at least three times before and yet I wondered if she was doing it on purpose, forgot, or is doing it unconsciously. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that it didn't matter, I just didn't like it and by extent, her for doing it. I sighed, bowed my head and left the room without a word. She had said something after I left, I didn't hear her and wasn't interested in what it was she had said anyway.
As I made my way through the hospital, passing a few different wards and seeing other people injured or otherwise crippled in some manner got me to reflect on how truly lucky I was to survive. It had been a year and a half since the explosion and most of the wounds on my body had already begun to heal, new skin forming over the burnt flesh that had been there a year ago, now just another blemish on my body, another memory to recall whenever I saw it in the mirror. Whatever I told myself after another brief introspection. I had been having a lot more time in the last year to just think, but I really didn't want to do so now. The therapist already instilling questions and thoughts into my head.
As I walked out the front door, heading back towards the city to find something to do before I retired either in the orphanage or somewhere else warm to sleep, I don't know why, I don't know how, but my instincts were telling me, something was going to happen.
There it was, that look of worry and pity, her words rang true and I knew it well, but why did she have to look at me like that afterward. I hated that look and she knew it. I've told her at least three times before and yet I wondered if she was doing it on purpose, forgot, or is doing it unconsciously. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that it didn't matter, I just didn't like it and by extent, her for doing it. I sighed, bowed my head and left the room without a word. She had said something after I left, I didn't hear her and wasn't interested in what it was she had said anyway.
As I made my way through the hospital, passing a few different wards and seeing other people injured or otherwise crippled in some manner got me to reflect on how truly lucky I was to survive. It had been a year and a half since the explosion and most of the wounds on my body had already begun to heal, new skin forming over the burnt flesh that had been there a year ago, now just another blemish on my body, another memory to recall whenever I saw it in the mirror. Whatever I told myself after another brief introspection. I had been having a lot more time in the last year to just think, but I really didn't want to do so now. The therapist already instilling questions and thoughts into my head.
As I walked out the front door, heading back towards the city to find something to do before I retired either in the orphanage or somewhere else warm to sleep, I don't know why, I don't know how, but my instincts were telling me, something was going to happen.