The supervisors here insist that everyone keep a diary of some sort, some venue for people to vent their thoughts. I think it's just a relatively cheap form of therapy, free but for the pens and papers. It is therapeutic, though, to hear my thoughts scritch and scratch against paper rather than rattle in my head. I guess I was always a bit of a writer at heart.
I'll be needing therapy of a more potent kind after today, however. I'm only two days in, and already I've experienced so much.
My patient today was a girl named Tomomi. She was maybe six or seven. A very quiet girl, starved of all the energy she should have had at that age. She only ever nodded, or made quiet, wordless noises.
I told her about the breeze, the late spring. It was really a fan in the corner, but I pretended there was an open window. I asked her if she could smell the dry yellow grass, or the gentle chill wafting in. My reward was a simple nod.
I then described the colour of the sky, blue like a robin's egg and speckled with whispy clouds like the whorls left by a lazy paintbrush. Yellow grass like dry stalks of wheat rustled in the faint wind, and flowers tried to bloom among it all.
At this, she finally spoke. “Are the sakuras in bloom?” she asked me. I looked at the bare concrete walls all around her, searching for pink blossoms. I was so strung up in lies already that I told another one. I told her of the towering cherry tree outside her window and the blooms like thousands of delicate bows.
When I left she was smiling, but her sheets had ceased their shallow rhythm of rising and falling with her breath.
I'm not sure I want to say anymore right now, I need some time to rest before whatever challenges tomorrow brings.