I wrote the word "hope".....

I took several deep breaths and dialed the number, trying not to think about it too much. Afraid I'd hang up the phone.

Shaking and trembling, tears ran down my face while I was put on hold. And when the phone conversation finally finished several weeks ago, I ended up scheduling an appointment to see a therapist.

Fast forward to yesterday.....

I was deathly frightened. Breathing as deeply as I could but it still felt like I couldn't get enough air. After being put on a waiting list with the counseling center I had called, I was meeting with a therapist for the first time EVER this past Monday.

It was just an hourlong session but I was nervous the whole time through. I didn't know what to expect. What I'd say. What he'd ask about.

While most of the time was spent going over the procedure, we did cover my basic "history".

It would've been too weird crying in front of a complete stranger so I held back but did tear up when I told him I felt worthless.

After hearing my story, the therapist said, "I think your life defined you up to this point but I see the true Dean inside of you wanting to come out." I smiled. With that one sentence I knew he understood why I was there.

And so I agreed to meet with him Monday afternoons in his office in the Loop. As one blogger told me, "It's long overdue."

Even though it was awkward it felt good. Like I was actively taking healthy steps in the right direction. A light at the end of the tunnel.

Monroe Harbor looking west towards the city!

Once the therapy session ended I didn't want to go home right away. I needed to decompress and take in the emotional experience I just had. To reflect on things.

So I walked over to Monroe Harbor and sat near the edge of one of the docks. Alone like always, occasionally crying to myself as cool gusts messed up my hair.

Walking down the dock

Seagulls were casually circling in the distance as I listened to the water roll onto itself in silky slaps. Anchored boats heavily rocked back and forth.....moving yet not going anywhere. I could relate to that! Maybe therapy will change that though.

While sketching the boats on the lakefront, I noticed some of the wooden posts on the dock had writing all over them. Love notes, obscenities, and little drawings littered each slender support.

Close-up shot of a wooden post!

I must've spent over a good hour on that dock. And when I was ready, before leaving to catch my train home, there was one more important thing I wanted to do.

On the wooden post closest to the edge, I inscribed a message of my own. At the very bottom of the soft timber, I wrote the word "hope".