Ambition?

"So no shit, there I was, embroiled against my greatest foe! He knew my thoughts, my tactics, and sometimes he would even know what I would do next. But they were not all battles of iron and steel, they were battles of will and wits! We would try to outmaneuver each other like a wicked game of 3-D Chess, looking to chip away at each other's pieces. Sometimes I would win, sometimes he would. But we both always kind of lost."

"Is that how you see it? Reminds of an episode of Game of Thrones."

"Patronize me not! Mine is a clash of no equal! Not the Melodrama of HBO! What greater joy is there than to lock blades with your arch nemesis?! Tell me!"

"You'll concern me if you tell me you're playing with swords again. It's all scripted, and a real sword fight wouldn't be as cool as on TV or in the movies. How long do you think two dudes swinging sharp metal at each other can really last? Seconds? Minutes? Not the hours that cinema or TV will try to sell you on."

I grew dismayed and tried to detach myself from the conversation, realizing that idea was pointless too.

"Your stories are a fun little distraction from the monotony of my day, nobody else talks to me like you do, and I love you for it. But I don't think you're telling me the things you NEED to tell me." He scolded me.

"What say you? Dare to disembark this voyage? Is this not the excitement you want - no, crave?" I refused to give up the charade.

"I have plenty of excitement, trust me. I have my own therapist for that too." I could hear the sarcasm and frustration teeming in his voice.

"So do you guys have your own therapists you go to? Or can you therapy yourself? Or is there, like, a super therapist trained to unhinge the baggage inherited by your average everyday therapist? Does he in turn go to a super-duper therapist to unfuck himself? Is there a never ending chain of therapists climbing the psychiatry chain searching for clarity in this world?!"

"Are you finished?" He asked plainly.

I stayed silent, feeling a little more stupid than when I first arrived at my session today.

"Stories, denial, and banter have been all I've gotten from you. I can only accept your money and humor you for so long. If I don't start seeing progress soon, as in today soon, I don't think I can help you or agree to see you anymore." He gently threatened me.

He was right. I wasn't getting anywhere. It was hard enough to drag myself out of bed and take the bus here, each step wighing another ton under my own body. If I stopped going, or if I got kicked out of a therapy session I'm pretty sure I would be fired. This was pretty contingent on my continued employment. But I had to go and fuck it up. He's right, I'm wasting his time and my own. Why can't I ever just get it right the first time? I'm so stupid, and a failure. I'm a stupid failure.

"Well?" He asked with a genuine concern for his time and my health.

"One final story. I"ll keep the allegory simple, it's the only way I'm able to talk to people these days, please."

"I"m here to help. But please help me help you. Proceed" He cautiously invited.

"Our hero was at the end of his line. His supplies had dried up, his allies had expired or left, and he waged war with his greatest nemesis at a terrible disadvantage. He tried to fight himself with no sword, energy, friends, family, or any real strategy. His allies slowly stopped seeing him appear at the local watering hole. His family cut him off until he talked to a professional. His livelihood, a safe little office job he's lucky he got, told him that he stopped being productive. That the ambition they used to love about him had abandoned him, like his wife had abandoned him two years prior. Confuse me not, I don't miss her. We were attached in the worst way and we're better apart. But I never really got accustomed to the void left in her wake. I wasn't accustomed to being alone, even when I was surrounded by friends and family. I stopped exercising, trying to eat healthy, and I slowly forgot to do the things that made me happy. I felt like I was fighting a losing battle every day.

Fantasy stories like Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings type shit helped me run away. And by run away, I mean sleep an extra 8 hours every day until someone makes a call to ask me where I am. I tried to escape. Escape from what I cannot say. It's a tough feeling to describe, like it's nothing and a tidal wave of everything all at the same time. When nothings happening, I feel overwhelmed by everything around me. My job, my responsibilities, and all the people in my life I used to cherish. But our hero is at the end of his quest. His munitions were expended. His sword had grown dull from the war he waged with his nemesis. And his will power, was all but extinguished. He sat at the end of his road, awaiting either the end or a new beginning. He prayed for death to release him from this suffering, but he only toyed with that idea. But still, he considered it more every day. Life or death? Our hero solemnly swore to find that answer on this day." I teared up as I finished my last stupid monologue before I get kicked out of the thing I thought would help me the most.

A few long seconds pass with unbearable silence.

"I'm sorry you had to endure all this on your own. You're very brave. Now I can actualy help you. Let me sharpen your sword. Hell, I'll give you a new sword and a spell book from Hogwarts."

"You know, I never really was a Harry Potter fan, I'm still two movies behind." We both laughed and I felt the weight of the Iron Throne removed from my chest.