Extract from ‘Six Different Ways’

"I find it odd that his office resembles a living room yet his hallway resembles a young offender's institute and I tell him this. He asks me if I think she should be here and I tell him immediately that I absolutely do not deserve to be here, but that it was better than an anger management course – which was my mother's initial suggestion.

    I ask him what he is. Is he a therapist? A psychologist? A counsellor? A shrink? A psychoanalyst?

    He tells me he's somebody to talk to, somebody with which I can unleash with no consequences. He tells me to get angry, be rude, aggressive and that here and only here it's ok, that it's safe. He tells me to think of this room as a room without judgement and without repercussions and I tell him that if there're no repercussions then he certainly is wasting my time – even though I know this isn't what he meant. He sighs a little and I decide to loosen up on him. I tell him I've never needed anyone to talk to.

    He pauses for a second here. He leans forward and puts both his hands together, elbows to his knees and thumbs to his chin, leaning into himself. His two index fingers are stretched out together. He speaks more softly now.

    "Is it that you've never needed anyone to talk to, or that you've never had anyone to talk to?"

    I can feel the pressure against my temples. I can feel it boiling underneath my skin. But I don't disrespect him, so I keep it at bay."