I get out of bed, exhausted, and groan in annoyance. I just missed a headache. In the bathroom I rummage in my medicine cabinet for an aspirin, and find that the pack was left empty in this very one after my last migraine. What have I done to deserve this?
A quick look at the clock tells me that I have to hurry if I want to go to the pharmacy before work. So I rush to the closet and freshen up a bit before I gobble down my, rather meager, breakfast. While I get on my boots and close my coat, I grab my bag, which was fortunately already packed last night, and leave the apartment.
In a slightly hectic way, I lock the car and enter the pharmacy, not far from the editorial office. The saleswoman greets me with a warm smile, which I return, somewhat forced. I quickly grab the pills and put the money on the counter. "It's none of my business, but you often buy headache pills. Without wanting to offend you, maybe you should go to the doctor?" She suggests gently as she puts the bill in the till.
She's still young, just a little older than me, I guess. Her brown hair falls loosely over her shoulders and her equally brown eyes look soft. Knowing that I can't wipe away your concerns like that, I reply: "It's okay, just the stress at work. Thanks for the advice anyway."
I quickly grab the aspirin and the change, then leave the shop. I don't notice the sad look she throws at me. A few minutes later I walk into the newspaper office. "Eva, there you are. The boss wants to speak to you." As soon as I have walked in the door, someone shouts the first instruction to me. As is expected of me, I immediately make my way to the editor.
I'm actually still studying journalism at the university in the next town, but at the moment I'm doing some kind of internship here in the small newspaper office around the corner. What did the professors call it? Oh yes, 'Gaining practical experience'. Not that I wouldn't like something like that, otherwise I would have chosen the wrong subject, but in the long run it can be stressful. In fact, I once caught myself choosing to study rather than my little job here, had I had the choice. The fact is that I usually enjoy this work more than dulling it.
"Ah, there you are. Haven't you finished your new article yet? It's due since noon yesterday." Confused, I frown. Of course, as requested, I put my contribution to the new daycare center on the pile here on time. Hopefully someone didn't accidentally mistake it for the waste paper. But that can't be the case, after all, everyone else apparently got there on time.Unless it fell off because someone got hold of it? No, it is unlikely.
I hold my head. “I must have a copy somewhere else, otherwise I'll just write it again. You'll have it on your desk by the evening edition.” The boss just grumbles: “I hope so too.” Fortunately, he's pretty good-natured, others would have me I'm sure my head was ripped off, or worse, canceled my internship, I couldn't have used that at all.
After a short detour to the editorial kitchen, where I took my aspirin, I scour my laptop for my report.
Fortunately, I actually still find it in my wastebasket, thank God I rarely empty it.
Take a quick look over it, print it out, and this time hand it in personally.
The next few hours went by without any incidents worth mentioning, so that in the evening, as always, I fell exhausted on the sofa without having to worry about anything. After dinner, my migraines reappear and I decide to lie down. Then I can learn something later or watch TV.
But it doesn't come to that, because when I wake up from my deep sleep around four in the morning, I don't really feel like doing one of the two activities. Instead, I set about cooking something. Not because I'm hungry, but because of pure alternatives. Granted, I'm not a good cook, but it's definitely enough for pancakes.
When I'm done, I'm sitting at a loss on my kitchen chair, unsure what to do now. Sleeping is definitely out of the question, I feel completely fit and rested, a rarity for me.
For a moment the idea of ​​going for a night walk comes over me, but with the thought of the drunk and the rapists, who will be enough in this small village, I quickly decide against it.
Still, fresh air is good, which is why I walk through the stairwell to the device door. When I arrive outside, I am greeted by an icy gust of wind and involuntarily I shiver. Why didn't I put anything over my pajamas and just slipped into my slippers? I'm guaranteed to be sick tomorrow!
My middle name is unreasonable anyway, so why not prove it again? Instead of going back into the apartment, I step out the door. Within seconds, I start shaking in my thin clothes and my hands are turning red. One step further and I'm standing on the damp lawn. The fact that I am not completely wet is due to the fact that it stopped watering while I was sleeping. But the grass and the dark ground are still wet. No wonder, after so much rain, the soil can no longer absorb anything. Fortunately it stopped, otherwise the cellar would be flooded in the near future.Absently I stroke the old bark of the tree and look up at the sky. Unfortunately I can't see the moon or the stars, because everything is still overcast.
Finally I start my way back and as soon as I step into the warm hallway I start to feel my toes again. I'm such an idiot.
I spend the rest of the night clicking through various forums. Originally I was looking for a few book recommendations, but gradually I got off my topic. I ended up on a page of parapsychology and fortune tellers.
I turned boredom into one of those 'Who were you in a previous life?' tests, as there are hundreds of them on the Internet, and amused me with the result. To imagine Trample as a lovely damsel was too delicious.
Then I let the hot water in the shower sprinkle me before I go to work.
As I thought, my nocturnal excursion will result in me lying in bed sick. Fever, runny nose and cough. A really big cold with everything that goes with it. How nice it would be to sit on the sofa with a cold tea in one and the phone in the other, wrapped in a thick blanket, and chat with a friend or family. The only problem is, my parents are dead and I don't really have any friends. Yes, a couple of colleagues at the university, but not as tight as I would call them in my spare time. So I have to be content with my tea and the company of the television.
Less than a week later I am in the pharmacy again and pay for my aspirin. This time I don't miss the saleswoman's worried look, and I can't avoid her handing me a business card while she teaches me to be sensible. Outside, I look at the card for the first time.
Prof. Dr. Med. John Linder
Professor of Psychology
Why is she giving it to me? Do I look so disturbed? I turn on my heel and ask the young woman exactly that. "You don't look good and I thought he could help you cope with the stress. Then the headache will go away too." Why does she see that way look sad? Why should she worry about me, we don't even know each other. Well, maybe she's one of the few nowadays who cares about other things.
I decide, to love her, to stop by this Doctor Linder once. Who knows, maybe it will really help. It can't do any harm.
I really doubt my state of mind. Now I'm really in this waiting room to have a session with a psychologist. I get up with a sigh when my name is called. Unsure whether I should not back down after all, I open the door to the conference room. The psychiatrist is already waiting inside.Leaning back, relaxed, he sits in the wide armchair, his legs casually crossed. He's not that old yet, around his mid-thirties. "Hello. You are Evangeline Thompson, aren't you?" He greets me warmly. Somewhat taken by surprise, I sit down on the offered armchair across from him. "Um, yes."
“I'm John Linder, but John is enough.” He smiles warmly, and my uncertainty and hesitation quickly disappears. "Then just Eva."
"Good Eva, why are you here?" Yes, good question. Because I wanted to do a pharmacist a favor? That is ridiculous. But unfortunately the truth.
"I have migraines quite often, and the pharmacist gave me her business card." "You," he corrects me. He thinks for a moment before saying anything again. "Do you have a lot of stress right now, and how long have you had this headache?"
Now it's me who has to ponder. "Well, I don't have any more stress than usual. Studies, internship at the moment, wait. And how long have I had them? They're really new, only for a month or two," I say.
He closes his eyes thoughtfully and is silent for a moment. "So they are unlikely to come from the stress if you haven't had them long. Has anything else changed? Different surroundings or something?"
I deny that. So far I've always blamed the pain on studying, but apparently that's not true. “Do you have any idea where this could come from?” I feel uncomfortable to use duo to a stranger, and even older ones, but what the heck? "Do you sleep badly? Do you have nightmares or something like that?"
"No, I actually sleep without a dream," I reply. “Then maybe a conflict with the family that is bothering you?” And again I have to say no. Do you think it's the stress? "No, my parents died a few years ago and I don't know my other relatives."
Now, for the first time, John leans forward in his chair. "I see. Could it be that you haven't come to terms with the death of your parents?"
"It can't be, I can't remember it, so I don't need to process anything. Besides, the headaches are new, can that be a reason at all?" He looks at me seriously. "Indeed it can. You can't remember, you say? That's interesting, how long ago was that? The death of your parents."
I don't need to think long about the answer. “You died when I turned nine. That was almost twelve years ago.” He raises both eyebrows questioningly. "Did you both die at the same time?"
"Yes. Wait a minute, no. I