Page 46 of Revelry
Chapter Twelve
Tate
“So, you wanted an extra session?”
I nodded. After weeks of spiraling, my OCD being worse than ever, I knew what I needed to do.
And that felt like growth, honestly.
Normally I would have just continued to spiral but this time, seeing the look on Gertrude’s face when I lashed out, it hurt me in a new way.
I couldn’t do that again. I needed help, and quickly.
“What happened?” Neil asked.
But just because I needed help, didn’t mean I could open up immediately. I was fighting a lifetime of struggle. I couldn’t just snap my fingers and suddenly be okay to talk about everything. If I was, then I wouldn’t need therapy in the first place.
I leaned back on the couch, mulling over my thoughts and staring at the peeling ceiling. Wanting to pick at the flaking plaster until the surface was smooth again. It was all out of order, some patches larger than others and different shapes. My mind drifted and I forgot where I was.
Neil heaved a frustrated groan. “You won’t try talking. You won’t try CBT. You won’t try meds or group therapy so why don’t we try ERP?”
“What’s that?” I asked, sitting forward, already knowing I would hate it.
“Exposure Response and Prevention Therapy,” Neil ticked the words off on his fingers. “It’s the gold standard treatment.”
A muscle twitched in my jaw. “Then why didn’t we do that in the first place?”
Neil shrugged. “Because it’s the last resort.”
I shook my head sharply. “No.”
“You haven’t even let me explain it yet.”
I slapped my thighs and stood up, pacing. “Let me guess, exposing me to things I’m OCD about – does that about sum it up?”
Neil gave me a chagrined look. “I forgot you were a smart cookie.”
I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile at his sass. I looked out the window onto the street, watching people go about their lives wondering how it felt to just get on with life and not be trapped by thoughts, rituals and urges.
“You’ve already nixed the idea but guess what, smarty-pants – we’ve been doing it for months.”
I bristled, turning slowly to face him. “What do you mean?”
He pulled off his glasses and started cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. “Every time you come here, I mess the room up slightly and make you sit in it and not give in to your compulsions to straighten the magazines or plump the cushions or line up the plants and coasters.”
“I hate it.”
“Exactly,” he beamed. “It teaches you that you’re able to cope with your anxieties without acting on your compulsive urges and performing your rituals. But now you know what it’s like; I’m going to keep doing it. Mainly because it’s my office and I can do what the fuck I want.” I opened my mouth to argue but Neil held up his hand. “I want you to try it at home, purposely.”
My mouth flapped. “No.”
“Do you know other words?”
“There are a few I’m thinking about saying right now, mainly four-letter ones.”
Neil barked out a laugh, then his expression sobered. “Please Tate. You need to get better if you want to live a healthier, happier life. We can create an exposure hierarchy together. So start small, like we have here, and build it up.”
I threw my hands up. “Fine, so now what? We just jump straight in?”
