A turning point; those moments in our lives where we can choose one path or another. Realising that one of those paths will lead to destruction, while the other could lead to something less than the torturous existence you have found yourself in. It is difficult; veering off the path that you have been on for so long. The familiar, even if the familiar is littered with bramble thorns that tear at your flesh with every tired step that you take, is tempting. The other path, the unfamiliar, is clear, but following it may mean being lost, and that is terrifying. It is new, and new is not always easy.

Kavya walked me to the door of the psychiatrist’s office, holding my arm, knowing that I wanted to flee. As she had on so many days before this—while I battled the need to numb the irritation growing inside me, when bravery took over and I boldly threw out all of the remaining alcohol in my apartment, and then when panic overtook me, when it sank in that I could never touch alcohol again—Kavya stood firm. My rock and my support. Externally, I was brave. Internally, my demons screamed that there was nothing wrong with me. I was in control of everything that happened to me.

In the psychiatrist’s office, I filled in the forms as my hands shook uncontrollably. The smell of leather filled the air as I sat on the couch in the waiting room. The room was homely, modern and littered with objects that would distract or comfort, depending on what was needed.

When Kavya eventually hugged me and promised to return in an hour, I let go of the brave face I had been clinging on to. My leg began to shake, and my hands grew clammy. Cell phones weren’t allowed in here, Kavya knew this, and she made sure that I had shut mine down before we even entered the room. I picked up a magazine, flipping through it quickly, but it didn’t calm my mind. I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs, willing the nervous jump in my leg to stop its torturous dance. Picking up one of the cushions on the couch next to me, I clutched it tightly to my chest. My leg calmed, but my mind didn’t. I was scared that the doctor would find something wrong with me, that he would agree that I needed to be separated from society until there was a sense of normality in me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

‘Are you all right?’ The receptionist peered over the counter, making eye contact with me. ‘Do you want some water?’

‘No, thank you,’ I managed. ‘I’m just a little bit nervous.’ She smiled warmly at me, no judgement from her that I could see. She must have seen people from all walks of life, nervously waiting for their first appointment.