Keyhole Therapy

Looking through your keyhole would only take a few minutes, giving me a much clearer idea of what I'm working with in these sessions.

What do you think?

Keyhole therapy? I've never had it before, but I'm open to the idea.

Yeah, go ahead.

Perfect.

I'll just slip the camera through your brain's keyhole, and then I can have a little look around.

This might stir up some things in your brain, so let me know if you feel any discomfort, and I'll try my best to move the camera to somewhere more comfortable.

Ok.

But as much as you can, try to hang in there whilst I'm searching. It's important I get as clear a picture as possible of your brain's layout.

Sounds good.

Right, here we go.

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Peeling yellow walls with scribbles dancing across the textured surface. Love hearts with arrows speared through. Houses atop picture-perfect lawns, pathways leading to fantasy worlds. Pockets of flowers dotted across the scene. A rocking horse sways in the corner, standing guard before a child, mirrored in their rocking, thumb sucking and fear gleaming in their eyes. Jellied window stickers plastered on the radiator: a smiley face, a rainbow and a dog, purple, green and yellow, all browning around the edges. Names of imaginary friends sparkle on the ceiling, twirling in circles like a mobile. Gentle rhymes play softly in the air.

A queen-sized bed with crumpled sheets. Tear-stained pillows toppled to the floor. A ring glistens on the bedside table, resting on a bed of rifled, torn papers. Ink running off them like rain. Coat thrown across an armchair, a phone in each pocket. Split lampshade, casting broken light across the room. Shouts whispered in the embers of light. Conversations lost to the silence of darkness. A lock and key tucked away in a drawer, rusted with age and dented around the edges. Suit pressed neatly and stored in a box. Teddy bear on the shelf, one eye hanging on by a thread.

Smoke-stained walls coat the corner in darkness. A desk overflowing with folders and post-its. Cans of drink tower high in the bin. Crumpled pages dot the floor, like abandoned snowballs. Shoes forced off feet and bounced off the walls. Scuff marks dapple the skirting. A crumpled blazer sits limp on the chair. Half buttoned shirt lies breathless on the ground. A man sits to the side, catching dust particles in his eyelashes. The bare lightbulb sways in the pockets of air. Light flickers over edges and sides. A broken computer screen, frozen on standby.

Six pairs of shoes toppled over one another, forming a curved line into the next room. One wall of picture frames, only half filled. Faint laughter heard on a loop. Shadows and reflections dance through slices of light. Conversations layer one another, towering as a cake. Trails of dirt dragged in from the hallway. Dashes of charcoal scattered up the wall, a name lines every point. Patterned wallpaper decorates one side. Vases, flowers, vines, pepper the background. TV screen in the centre, family videos reflecting life into the dust-mottled room.

Dirty dishes crowd a sink, water running cold. Glitter and confetti sprinkle the carpeted floor. Half-finished friendship bracelets decorate the table. Beads and cords fanned out. A CD player, plugged in by the corner. Towering CDs stand by in anticipation. Linked fingers reflected in shadows. Texts from years gone by plaster a wall by the door. Torn wrapping and frayed ribbons lay crumpled on two chairs. Folded notes and secret codes stay hidden in a drawer. Giggles and whispers ring out through the air. Promises made lay trapped snug in a box.

A body lies in bed. Sores and pus oozing from their skin. Tears and blood run down the walls. Screaming, heard in a forever echo. Knives pierce the sides, treasures hanging from the hilts. A body weeps in the corner, darkness filling the space left by their every ragged breath. Nail marks carve a path along the floor. Holes formed where fingers took refuge. Lines drawn in felt tip note the passing of days. Ink fading as time moves onwards. Wails of desperation, pleading and begging run in a cycle. Louder, then soft. The handle sticks. It's hard to open the door.

They drag themselves from wall to wall. Side to side. Arms thrown in desperation. Cracks and snaps as the body reforms. Slamming of doors, heard on repeat. Mountains of pages written in blood. A wall of eyes stares back at them. Unblinking, merciless. Wheels of the chair spin endlessly. Onlookers watch, trapped in the cycle. Broken smiles, forced connection. Limping across the room, the floor tilts in empathy. Crooked looks and twisted limbs. Punches thrown, just to be felt. Masks hang loose on the needle-pinned wall.

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I think I've seen everything I need to see. If you're feeling alright, I'll slide the camera back out through the keyhole now.

Ok.

There we are. You did incredibly well through that. Not a flinch.

Thanks.

Now then, where would you like to start?

…

What did you see?