“Hello, I’m Dr. Hart. You must be Miranda Steeler. It’s nice to meet you,” the Chicago based psychotherapist said while reaching out to shake the hand of her newest patient.
“Thank you, it’s nice to meet you as well,” the mousy woman said just slightly above a whisper.
‘Oh my, she’s quite the timid little bird. I wonder how long it will be before I get anything out of her,’ Doctor Hart silently thought.
“So, what can I do for you today, Miranda?” she then asked aloud.
It was a long time before Miranda answered, primarily because she wasn’t sure how to answer without coming across as a complete lunatic. Surely it’s not everyday someone seeks help because of a dream they had about a television show. You just can’t walk in to someone’s office and say, “Well you know, I had this strange dream the other night about Game of Thrones. There was a major war going on, everyone was caught up in it, and in the end I saved them all. But not one single person thanked me. Not one.” You’d sound like a whacko if you did. Miranda felt she would at least.
She also felt she’d sound bonkers if she described the celebration that followed. Bran Stark was there, and when he saw Jaime and Cersei Lannister he ran up to them and said “You’re alive! How awesome!”; which was the last thing you’d expect a paralyzed kid to both do and say to the people who caused his paralysis. Then when Jaime and Cersei turned around and saw Tyrion, the brother they were raised to hate, they started hugging him and tussling his hair and telling him how much they missed him. Sansa and Arya Stark enjoyed a heartfelt reunion with Jon Snow. Littlefinger kept bursting into tears of happiness. People were also welcoming towards the blonde hair chick they never knew existed until that day. For a group of people with such weird names, Daenerys Targaryen stood out as something that sounded too odd even for them, but no matter. Everyone was cool in everyone else’s books. Everyone, that is, except for Miranda Steeler. Whenever anyone saw her, they just looked her up and down, sneered, and then turned to embrace the person they had previously sworn to fight to the death. There was no love for the woman who had saved the kingdom from certain ruin. She didn’t even rate a high-five.
“Great. Even some of the most despicable characters on television hate me,” Miranda said upon waking from her dream. “Something has to change.”
So she made an appointment with her family doctor, who referred her to Dr. Hart’s office, and there the two of them sat. With her eyes cast towards the floor, Miranda cleared her throat and said what she hoped wouldn’t make this woman hate her, too.
“I think I may have self-esteem issues.”
“Okay, let’s see what we can do about that,” Dr. Hart said in a tone that let Miranda know having low self-esteem was in no way shape or form comparable to being a murderer, a child molester, or a politician.
She knew it was going to take some time, but for the first time in ages Miranda felt there was finally hope for her.