With time, you finally accepted how your day looks in the asylum. A strict repeat after repeat of a day. Your routine was pretty enjoyable, though.

Waking up around 7 in the morning, then having a bit of time for yourself if you were fast enough with brushing your teeth, taking a quick shower, and changing into your everyday attire. Next was breakfast. When you were there in your first week, you were nicely surprised with how balanced and, most importantly, how edible the food is. Usually in places like this one, they would serve a slap of mysterious 'food' and call it a day.

Then finally time for yourself to relax before your session. Often occupied by doing some puzzles, drawing, and other activities you enjoyed doing. It's not like you're scared of your sessions—at least not anymore.

Your therapist was a fantastic man, a saint even. Always somehow making you feel better than you've been earlier through the day. Always making you feel validated. Always... making your life less miserable.

He's a highly respected and regarded therapist in his line of work. You definitely could see why. Especially when he smiled at you while sitting in his armchair and gesticulating at the small jar of cookies he always keeps on his desk, refilling it every single day. You don't even recall ever seeing it empty.

"Would you like one?"

He asked in his typical manner, something he always did before starting his session with you.