The Conqueror Of Cities!

Chapter 42: Psychologist

Chapter 42: Psychologist

Entering the house, I slipped off my shoes and joined my parents in the living room, where they were engrossed in watching TV. Settling in beside my brother, we all enjoyed some shared family time.

However, the atmosphere suddenly shifted when my father took hold of the remote and switched off the television. The casual mood evaporated, and the attention of my entire family focused on me.

Confusion washed over me, and I asked, "Um, is something wrong?"

My father met my gaze, his expression serious, and replied, "Son, do you recall when I suggested that we visit a psychologist, and you agreed?"

"Yeah?" I responded, leaning back on the couch, still perplexed.

"Well," he continued, "we've arranged for you to see a psychologist tomorrow morning. So you won't be attending school."

I couldn't help but let out an unexpected burst of water I was drinking, spitting it out in shock. "God damn it, so he wasn't joking back then," I thought, hastily wiping my mouth.

My family exchanged surprised glances, before my mother angrily told me to clean up the spilled water from the table and floor.

Rising from the couch, I made my way to the kitchen, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and returned to address the mess.

"So, just because you think I might be depressed, I have to see a psychologist?" I asked, while wiping the wet table, a hint of annoyance in my voice.

"Yes," my father replied simply.

I sighed, feeling a mix of resignation and frustration. "Fine, I'll go," I agreed.

After that my father turned the TV back on and all of them continued to watch. Meanwhile, I diligently wiped the floor and table, ensuring no traces of the spilled water remained.

Having completed my cleaning task, I didn't linger to join them in watching TV. Instead, I retreated to the solitude of my room.

Lying in my bed, a wave of fear washed over me. Tomorrow, I would come face to face with a psychologist—a master of unraveling minds, manipulating thoughts, deceiving, and even altering behavior. Psychologists possessed a formidable arsenal of psychological weapons.

In the confines of my bed, my mind became consumed with endless scenarios. I envisioned the conversation, contemplating its possible outcomes and pondering how I would deceive him or her to make me look like a normal high school teenager. Countless variations of this nerve-wracking encounter played out in my imagination, each scenario painting a different picture of what might unfold.

I leapt out of bed and delved into studying everything I could find about psychologists and their methods. Hours slipped away as I pored over books and watched videos of psychologists interacting with their patients. I was determined to equip myself with the knowledge necessary to appear composed and unsuspecting during my session.

It was well past midnight when I finally shut down my computer and succumbed to sleep.

The following morning, around 9 AM, I had breakfast and meditated to calm my nerves before heading out. Arriving at the hospital, I wandered aimlessly until I approached a nurse and inquired about the whereabouts of Doctor Edna. The nurse kindly directed me to her room.

Standing in front of the door, I swallowed hard and mustered the courage to knock. After a brief pause, the door opened, revealing an elderly woman with a warm smile. I stepped inside, radiating arrogance, and took the seat she had prepared for me. She settled into her own seat, and a hushed silence filled the room, adding to the patient's nervousness. Her appearance, with its subtle vulnerability, made the patient feel more at ease. But I didn't fall for it not for a second.

"Hello, what's your name?" she asked in a kind and gentle tone, her voice inviting an open and honest conversation.

"Dionis" i declared, leaning back on the comfortable chair, raising my legs and putting them on the table.

"How old are you?"

"16 soon to be 17"

...

She continued to ask general questions and share snippets about herself, creating an atmosphere of familiarity and trust. Eventually, she broached the subject that had brought me there.

"So, Dionis, I've heard from your father that you're feeling depressed. Can you please tell me why he came to that conclusion?"

I stared at her in silence.

"Dionis, you know you can talk to me," she reassured me.

"..."

"Dionis, I'm here to provide support and help you navigate through these challenges. Together, we can explore different strategies to manage stress and find a sense of purpose. How would you feel about discussing some coping mechanisms that might improve your overall well-being?"

"..." I didn't utter a word.

After some time of her talking, attempting to draw me out, she took a deep breath and spoke again.

"It seems you're not yet comfortable sharing your problems. How about we meet again tomorrow at the same time? We can continue our conversation then. Does that sound alright to you?"

"OK," I responded quietly before standing up and leaving without uttering another word.

through a series of calculated sessions with the psychologist, I skillfully manipulated the narrative. Initially, I played the role of the quiet and troubled kid, as you observed. Gradually, I began to increase my involvement, strategically revealing bits of information during the second and third sessions.

However, it was during the fourth session that I executed my most cunning maneuver. With an air of vulnerability, I fabricated a tale about my weariness as an exceptional, straight-A student, pretending that everything was fine while secretly drowning in despair. I spun a web of lies, convincingly portraying myself as a typical, overwhelmed high school student burdened by the weight of stress and life's struggles.

My deceptive behavior successfully mirrored that of an average teenager struggling with depression. Yet, to my surprise, instead of giving me the anti depressions I wished, the psychologist referred me to a psychiatrist for a diagnosis, which I hadn't anticipated.

Upon arriving home, I felt disappointed. I had always believed that psychologists were the ones responsible for prescribing medication and making diagnoses.

"Alright, Dionis, you'll still achieve your desired outcome, but it will require additional time and effort," I reassured myself.