“I don’t know, Jillian…are you sure you can’t just fix these problems on your own? You never were the type to be regularly plagued by…issues,” my mother says. Clearly, she can’t see through my façade. Good, because if she knew what I had in mind, she’d send me to a different kind of doctor, one who works in a hospital where crazy patients go in and never come out.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to sound subdued, like a moody teenager who needs to go to therapy to stay sane.

“Well…okay, Jill. But just a few visits, okay?” I nod, acting upset, while inside I am flying. I’m sure she thinks I’m going to ‘therapy’ just to see my boyfriend Finn. But just because I’m dating the psychiatrist’s son doesn’t mean I’m bent on seeing him everywhere I go. In fact, I doubt he’d be very willing to let me see his father if he knew what I was about to do.
I show up at the office fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. Maybe he won’t be busy and I’ll be able to spend more time with him. The office is just as I remember it being last year: the fishtank on top of the bookshelves, the chairs scattered around the waiting room. The disorder is what drew me to Dr. Harte in the first place. “Hi, my name is Jillian Reynolds? I’m here for my five-thirty appointment with Dr. Harte?” I make my statements questions because that’s what she’ll expect. I can’t act suspicious or else we’ll get caught, and I can’t risk that.

“Oh, hi,” the receptionist says a little wearily. “Let me just have your check for this visit, and you can go right in. You’re his last appointment for the day.” She obviously wants to go home, and the sooner I get out of here the sooner she can do the same. I hand her the check, reaching across the counter. She briefly looks up from signing me in to thank me without smiling. “First door on the left,” she says, and I continue down the hallway until I find the right office. I knock on the door politely, although I’ve already spoken to him on the phone. He opens the door, and I’m a little surprised that he is willing to risk losing his license for me. Me, Jillian Reynolds.

“Hello, Miss Reynolds, I understand you’re having some problems you need to talk about,” Dr. Abraham Harte says, closing the door. It’s all an act; as soon as the door is shut the room is soundproof. Thank God for patient confidentiality…and thank God I chose a doctor and not a librarian to help me cheat on the SAT’s, write my college admission essays, and ace my senior year.