21. My therapist

Erica

Erica Bluright,” the secretary called through the empty waiting room, where I paced uncontrollably.

My heart raced, my mind jittery with worry. I hadn’t been able to sit still all morning.

She smiled at me. “Dr. Evans is ready to see you.”

I paused and inhaled deeply, walking to Dr. Evans’s office and knocking on the thick wooden door. I had tried everything that Dr. Evans told me to do whenever I had a panic attack, but none of it worked today.

My anxiety was so bad this morning that I had to book a last-minute session with him.

“Come on in, Erica,” he called from inside his office.

After seizing the doorknob, I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Dr. Evans sat behind his wooden oak desk and glanced up at me when I walked in, his lips curling into an affectionate smile.

“Why don’t you shut the door and sit?” he said, gesturing to the couch beside his desk.

Once I closed the door, I sat and placed my hands on my bouncing knees. No matter how much I tried, my mind wou