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Jun. 9th, 2025 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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Funny thing, when he'd gotten up the courage to pick up the phone and make the call, it hadn't taken all that long to get into therapy.
Back before, he'd never gone himself, but he'd always gotten the sense that getting help for your mental health wasn't an easy thing.
( Mental health things, many of them unpleasant. )
After he leaves, Joel considers not going back, but he does. And today he leaves his therapist's office after his fifth session as the sun begins to set. His hands are shaking a little and he could do with a drink. They had spent this session talking about his tendency to shut people out, to find a moral high ground and put himself on it, changing what was moral to suit his needs.
He'd hinted, too, at something else. A feeling he's not ready to explore.
"Someone you care about?" his therapist had asked. "Outside of Ellie?"
"I have friends," he'd protested and she had smiled.
"That isn't what I mean and that isn't what you were suggesting."
And she had been right. Joel had shut it down there, unable to talk about it yet, feeling uncomfortable with even the possibility. It doesn't make sense. That's not him, he's not... well, it doesn't matter. His therapist had let it happen, their time nearing its end, but he knows this won't be the end of it. He doesn't think he wants it to be the end. It still leaves a weird, squirming feeling in his chest, one he can't name, can't place, and he realizes he's walked straight to a bar without even planning on it.
Fuck it, he needs that drink.
Inside, a whiskey in his hand, Joel goes to a booth to be alone and finds himself staring down at a photo album. The cover is brown, faux leather, and in the picture window on the front is a snapshot of himself, much younger, and a curly haired baby girl sitting on his knee. Sarah would have been about eighteen months in that picture and Joel stares down at her, then touches her face with the pad of one finger.
"Hey, baby girl," he says softly, then slides into the booth and flips open the album.
[He's in a weird space, but not bad. Timed to this evening. Find him anywhere on the street, or in the bar.]
Back before, he'd never gone himself, but he'd always gotten the sense that getting help for your mental health wasn't an easy thing.
( Mental health things, many of them unpleasant. )
After he leaves, Joel considers not going back, but he does. And today he leaves his therapist's office after his fifth session as the sun begins to set. His hands are shaking a little and he could do with a drink. They had spent this session talking about his tendency to shut people out, to find a moral high ground and put himself on it, changing what was moral to suit his needs.
He'd hinted, too, at something else. A feeling he's not ready to explore.
"Someone you care about?" his therapist had asked. "Outside of Ellie?"
"I have friends," he'd protested and she had smiled.
"That isn't what I mean and that isn't what you were suggesting."
And she had been right. Joel had shut it down there, unable to talk about it yet, feeling uncomfortable with even the possibility. It doesn't make sense. That's not him, he's not... well, it doesn't matter. His therapist had let it happen, their time nearing its end, but he knows this won't be the end of it. He doesn't think he wants it to be the end. It still leaves a weird, squirming feeling in his chest, one he can't name, can't place, and he realizes he's walked straight to a bar without even planning on it.
Fuck it, he needs that drink.
Inside, a whiskey in his hand, Joel goes to a booth to be alone and finds himself staring down at a photo album. The cover is brown, faux leather, and in the picture window on the front is a snapshot of himself, much younger, and a curly haired baby girl sitting on his knee. Sarah would have been about eighteen months in that picture and Joel stares down at her, then touches her face with the pad of one finger.
"Hey, baby girl," he says softly, then slides into the booth and flips open the album.
[He's in a weird space, but not bad. Timed to this evening. Find him anywhere on the street, or in the bar.]