The first "Therapist"

1988 I was at my best and my worst. 

I had my first nervous breakdown right out of highschool. I'd been pushing hard and fast for so long. Working several summer jobs with University scheduled for the fall. 

It hit. It came like a train. 

It was the buildup of a confused life and distraught mind. I had reached a breaking point. 

Mental illness was not talked about. It was obvious I was 'hormonal' or some kind of mania perhaps....

The MD sent me to 'The Little Brown Shack'. 

It was psychiatric emergency help put behind the old hospital. 

Tucked in a patch of trees I began my first therapy sessions. 

. 

I am 18.  My hair is short for wash and go. Little make up. I am 116 pds and a little more than 5"7'. 

The tears flow even as my face remains staunch. 

My eyes are drawn and I feel weighted. I just want to run. To where?

"Come in" he says. 

A therapist. He looks 90 to me. 

Tall and lanky. 

Blue eyes. 

Wrinkled forehead. 

Bright smile. 

Longest arms I have ever seen.....

I follow, up a set of stairs to a loft like office. It's bright and there are regular armchairs and a loveseat. He has a chair that rolls. An old desk. 

I take the comfotable chair by the bay window.

The room has a homey feel. 

His phone rings.

"I am very sorry. Give me just one minute."

I take the time to fidget in my chair. Taking in his degrees snd books, nick knacks and pictures. He was eclectic, I decided. 

How is this old fart going to help me?!?! 

My mind spun. Lost for a moment.

"April?"

"What were you just thinking?"

"Nothing..."

"You can speak here. It is alright. I don't bite. Do you smoke?"

My back went up. I was ready for the lecture.

"Yes." I said firmly. My eyes said... Do not challange me today Mister!

"Wonderful!" He threw open the window and pulled two ashtrays from his desk. 

"We will get along just fine" he said, as he lit up.