Within Amelia's Mind

The minutes passed, stretching out like thin strands of thread in the quiet of Charlotte's office. Amelia could feel the weight of everything hanging between them, an unspoken truth that was slowly pulling itself to the surface. She had come here for a reason—to talk, to be heard. But now that she was sitting across from Charlotte, the words felt like they were stuck in her throat, too heavy to say aloud.

Charlotte didn't rush her. She simply sat there, her posture open but not pushing, letting Amelia take her time.

Amelia's mind raced, her thoughts scrambling to find a way to start, but everything felt tangled, too complex to break apart. She shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping nervously on the armrest.

Charlotte's voice broke the silence, calm and steady. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to, Amelia. But I think you're here because you need to say it."

Amelia swallowed hard, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She didn't want to say it. She didn't want to admit it. But it was the only thing that made sense now, the only thing that felt real.

"I've been..." Her voice cracked, and she stopped herself, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I've been using. Drugs. I..." She shook her head, unable to finish the sentence.

Charlotte didn't flinch. Her expression didn't change, but there was a quiet understanding in her gaze that made Amelia want to say more, to keep going.

"I started with painkillers. After my accident," she said, her voice quieter now, "but it didn't stop there. It never does, right?"

Charlotte didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. Amelia's hands shook as she spoke, but she didn't look away, didn't break the silence.

"Sometimes it's not even about the drugs," Amelia went on, her words starting to tumble out faster now. "It's about shutting everything out. The noise. The chaos. The feeling like I'm always going to screw things up." She swallowed, her chest tightening. "I just... I just want it to stop. I want to stop feeling like I'm breaking into a thousand pieces every damn day."

There was a pause. A long one.

Amelia's eyes darted up to meet Charlotte's, and for the first time, she felt like someone actually saw her—like Charlotte understood, not just as a doctor, but as someone who had been there.

Charlotte's gaze softened, her voice gentle. "Amelia, you're not broken."

"But I feel broken," Amelia whispered, her voice trembling.

Charlotte didn't respond right away. Instead, she stood up slowly, walking over to the window. She looked out, her back to Amelia, as if gathering her thoughts. Amelia was about to speak again, to apologize for laying all of this on her, but then Charlotte turned back, her expression unreadable.

"I know what it feels like," Charlotte said quietly. "I know what it feels like to need to shut everything out, to try and escape the noise. I've been there."

Amelia blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Charlotte hesitated for a moment, then took a breath and walked back toward the desk, sitting down. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes intense but vulnerable in a way that made Amelia's heart stutter.

"I was an addict once," Charlotte said simply, as if admitting the truth was somehow freeing, something she had been carrying for too long.

Amelia's eyes widened, disbelief mixing with a strange sort of relief. "You? But—"

Charlotte raised a hand, cutting her off. "Yeah. I know. It doesn't seem like it, right? I'm a doctor. I've got it all together. But I didn't always."

She paused, her gaze drifting for a moment before she met Amelia's eyes again.

"I started with prescription drugs, just like you. It was pain management at first—after a car accident that nearly killed me. But then it became about more than just the pain. It became about coping with the emotional shit I couldn't deal with." Charlotte's voice wavered slightly, but she didn't look away. "I tried to bury it, all of it—the grief, the guilt, the memories. And I didn't care how I did it. I just needed to escape."

Amelia didn't know what to say. She had always seen Charlotte as someone strong, someone who had it all figured out. But now, hearing this, it was like a crack had appeared in the facade. Charlotte was just like her—just another person trying to survive, trying to cope.

Charlotte continued, her voice growing quieter, almost distant. "I ended up in rehab. It wasn't easy. Hell, it still isn't. But I made it out. And I'm here because I know what it feels like to lose control, to feel like you're drowning in it."

Amelia sat back in her chair, her mind reeling. Charlotte had been there. She had survived.

"Why didn't you...?" Amelia trailed off, unsure how to finish the question. Why didn't she tell anyone? Why didn't she let them see her pain?

Charlotte smiled faintly, as if reading her thoughts. "Because I didn't want to be seen as weak. Because I didn't want anyone to look at me and see that I couldn't fix myself." She paused, her eyes locking with Amelia's. "But sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is ask for help. To admit that you can't do it alone."

Amelia's chest tightened. She hadn't known what to expect when she came here today, but this—this honesty, this shared understanding—felt like the first real connection she'd had in a long time.

"I'm still trying to figure it all out," Charlotte added. "Every day is a struggle. But I'm still here."

Amelia's voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be like this anymore."

Charlotte's eyes softened. "You don't have to be. But you don't have to do it alone, either."

Amelia took a deep breath, her hands trembling but steadying as she held on to Charlotte's words. For the first time, she felt like there was a way out—a path she could walk down, even if it was hard, even if it scared her.

Maybe the journey wouldn't be easy. Maybe it would take time.

But for the first time in a long while, she felt like she wasn't walking it alone.