As I left the psychiatrist’s office, I switched on my phone and posted a photo from one of my afternoon walks before all of this happened. Hearts filled my screen once again, but this time, it didn’t feel like I needed them.

By our seventh session together, I began to understand why Dr Shyam asked the questions he did. Addictive personality disorder, that was my label, and we were working on becoming healthy, finding ways for me to not fixate and rely on external stimuli to feel content. Dr Shyam insisted I stop calling it a label. I was not an object. Regardless, I couldn’t see it as anything other than that I was broken. Defective.

‘And how many times a day are you checking your social media statistics?’ he asked, making sure to make eye contact with me.

‘Less than before,’ I answered, knowing that breaking eye contact with him would be a tell that I was lying.

‘Don’t avoid answering the question, Jhanvi. Remember that direct answers are the only answers that are allowed here.’ I rolled my eyes at him, far more comfortable with showing him my true feelings now. He had broken through, past my tough exterior. He could see me for all of me. I could be here, just be. Exploring who I am and who I wanted to become.

I relented. ‘Four or five times a day,’ I said.

‘Or?’

I flopped back into the two-seater couch, folding my arms and pouting. He always asked more questions to get the full truth.

‘Or whenever I’m bored.’ I looked out of the window, knowing that this was against the rules.

‘And how often are you getting bored?’

‘Look, Kavya is helping me a lot with my schedule. She practically controls every aspect of my life, so I’m not exactly busy all the time anymore, and I get bored. A lot.’