Between Two Extremes

Most people hate the therapist. Or at least, that’s the impression I get. I for one loved visiting the therapist. Her name is Dr. Lindsom and she has big green eyes flecked with bits of hazel especially concentrated around the pupil. You may ask how I noticed this. It’s because for two blessed hours I get to stare into them as I tell her about the ups and downs of the week. Or month as the case may be. She has long brown hair with gold highlights and she always wears pretty bright colored suits.
Her office is as colorful as she is. She had lime green walls with paintings of flowers plastered all over them. She also adjourned her desk with many pretty, exotic looking flowers and plants. She also has plants hanging at odd intervals from the ceiling, giving you the impression that you’re in the Botanical Gardens. She has a big window on the opposite wall from where I sit that has a gorgeous view of Lake Michigan.
The water was particularly beautiful today. The sun’s orange rays bounced and flitted along the water like playful sun fairies. The waves were pretty high today. They even crested and splashed over the rocks onto the street. I loved watching the waves move. There was just something captivating about the consistent randomness of the ever changing tides. I could watch the waves for hours, especially when I’m manic.
My mania had calmed down considerably from yesterday. I was able to sleep last night; in fact I slept from the time I got home from school yesterday evening to this appointment right now. It was 7:45am.
My mom scheduled an early appointment so that I wouldn’t have to miss too much school. School would be starting in about 45 minutes. My “important” classes were at the end of the day. Math, science, English, and I’d be missing art and lunch. On a “normal” manic day I would have flared up at just the thought of being forced to miss art.
I sighed happily. In fact, right now, thankfully I wasn’t very manic. In fact, I was very “normal”, which probably meant I’d be sinking into a depression soon. I didn’t think about that, though. For now, I just enjoyed the moderate serenity, moments that were to few and far between in my life.
I looked out onto the Lake once more and stared into the crashing whitecaps of the waves. I liked to watch a wave and then replay it in my mind in slow motion. That was one of my favorite things to do. I did it with one wave. Then another. Crash. It’s hard to believe something so powerful could, at the same time be so majestic.
So as I slowly closed my eyes and listened to the imagined crashing sound of the waves down below, I had, quite possibly, the most terrifying dream of my entire fifteen years of existence.
I think that I’d have to take an extension on my therapy session.