Sitting at the therapist's office, looking around the room. Bright painted walls, simple furniture, calender set to December in January. Listening to her questions, replying as I best could. What do you dislike about yourself? What do you want to change? Details, details. Thinking to myself, how exhausted I am, how listening to her questions drags me down and drowns me.

Feeling my head spin whilst all I want to do scream and run out of there.

"So how would you explain those feelings?"

- Stop, I can't take anymore questions. I'm so exhausted.

She nods, writes in her notebook. "Why are you so exhausted?"

No. Enough.