I'm tired of waking up with an empty space in my head where a memory should be.

There's only blackness from the night before, so I resort to plastering a smile to my face and acting indifferent. As usual.

Otherwise, I feel fine. Unbelievably, not actually, fine.

Dr. Light says the sessions have been a great improvement and lifting the weights has also helped to restore me from a twig of a girl to a slightly toned twig of a girl. There's still the matter of being unable to go outside, hence why I look as white as a sheet.

Downstairs, the new normal awaits.

Mum is pouring hot coffee into two cups, while Dr. Light sits reading a textbook of some description.

Stupidly, I find myself wondering how many he's read.

Our routine carries on, completely uninterrupted until, when I'm filled to the brim with my cereal, I decide to ask the question. The question. It's been playing on my mind for quite some time, but I haven't felt the courage to raise it.

"Could I ever go back to school?" I don't care which, I don't care where. I don't mind, I'm not bothered. Just a school, any school.

The only person in this house who is close to my age is Dr. Light and he's well, he's my Doctor. He isn't big on smiling either, which doesn't exactly encourage me to be my happiest self.

Mum looks up, spilling a worryingly large amount of coffee on the table. Her eyes are as wide as my plate.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" She means my agoraphobia. It hasn't officially been diagnosed as I struggle to leave the house to visit a proper clinic or return to the hospital, but Light has his suspicions. My inability to go outside alone, the thought of crowds making my chest shrink.

I had my suspicions too.

"But I want to go back," I say. More than anything in the world. I want to settle into that clockwork procession of walking to school with an overly full backpack, then coming home with a nearly empty one to chat to friends over the phone.

I can't remember my school experiences, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they weren't great. It's hard enough trying to convince people you have a condition without them labelling you as an attention seeker. They should know that attention is the last thing I want.

Mum sets the coffee pot onto the table, sighing.

"Sweetheart, you're simply not ready. We're barely halfway through your sessions and Doctor Steele has been missing for over two weeks. We need someone to clear you and we need to find a school".

The list goes on, but I stop listening. I'm not ready. I'm not anything lately it seems. Just a shell on a couch talking about fake feelings and lying to my Doctor. A ghost of a daughter that never was.

Dr. Light doesn't say anything. I don't know why I expected him to support my idea, I don't know why I even feel I can trust him.

Lowering my head, I refuse to let another word slip from my mouth. My big mouth. It is too much to hope. Too much to dream of a world where I can be myself and not be afraid. Dr. Light doesn't look at me, but he nods to Mum in agreement.

"I suppose you'd better get on with your session then," Mum smiles and pats my shoulder in what she assumes is a reassuring gesture. Everyone always assumes that what they do is right. What they do for me or to me is for the greater good. The greater good, not my greater good. I don't think I even have one.

But I don't dare say anything, I just sit and smile and try to sink into nothing.

The rest of breakfast passes in silence.

When Dr. Light starts to stand, I look away. Although, if I think about it, maybe Mum is right. I am struggling to go outside – I am barely stable enough to look out the window.

School would be an impossible task for me right now. It probably always was.

Mum takes the plates to wash up, placing a kiss on my cheek as she passes.

"Are you ready?" Light asks, even though he doesn't need my confirmation. This is what I have to do, regardless of my own feelings.

As we walk to the usual room for our small talk sessions, Light turns to me, an odd expression riddling his face.

"Why do you want to go back to school?" Part of me wonders why he's even bothered to ask.

"I miss being... I miss having a purpose, deciding my future". That much is true. There's a very long list of things that I miss, including things I don't even remember.

"I'll have to run some assessments and you will have to be cleared by a Doctor from the hospital," he cuts off. "But I know you can go back, if you really want to". I really do. I suppose this is just like everything else: it's all up to me to prove them wrong.

Nodding, we lapse into our scheduled silence.

Over the past two weeks, I've noticed Light has no nervous ticks, no nervous habits. It's actually starting to make me a little nervous. He hardly laughs, he barely even smiles and never cracks jokes, especially when I need them. Not until recently.

As we enter the living room, Light walks past the doorway of the therapy room, heading straight for the back door. At first, I can't seem to follow him.

Even though the curtains are shut, the world folds towards me, tearing me open with its gaze. Dr. Light urges me to stare at him, to look at him instead of the doorway.

"Just focus on your breathing," he says.

"I am. It's erratic and making me panic". I swear he cracks a smile. But he is right. If I want to conquer this phobia, I need to face it head on.

Closing my eyes, I tune in to my breathing, counting the number of seconds it takes me to exhale. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don't think, just breathe. You can do it. It's alright. Lifting my foot, I take a step. Another step. It's as if I'm trying to lift a fog from my mind, one that stops me from moving. From seeing.

"You can do this. Breathe," Light seems to be saying, but his voice is such a long way off.

After taking a forceful breath, I step forward again. I am not afraid.

The doorway envelopes me, enclosing my body like a tomb. I am not afraid.

Placing my hand on the cool doorknob, I twist and push it open.

It's a scene from a fairy-tale, with sunlight glistening on the grass like liquid gold. It isn't warm, just sunny.

Light joins me in the doorway. We don't dare to speak, in case I lose my nerve.

As a bird lands on the fence, my breathing wavers. Just a little. No. I am not afraid.

Squaring my shoulders, I force myself to stare at the garden, watch the bugs flitter about from one place to another. Free. Unlike me. Still, watching them fills me with a feeling I haven't experienced in a long time. Peace.

"Are you alright?" Dr. Light puts his hand at my back, tentatively. I've never been better.

"It's beautiful" I reply. He frowns, like the words are the strangest thing he's ever heard. Steadily, he watches the garden along with me.

"Yes," he says at last. There is such surprise in his voice, it's haunting.

"It is". He breaks away seconds later.