Diary of a Paranoid

When I return from the bathroom, a trek which probably took longer than it should, I pull open the tent flap and step inside. My therapist Anna looks up from her book at me with that hopeful expression that must be glued on her face.
"So, how did it go?" (Sad, I know, that she has to ask me how my trip to the bathroom went, but Anna is always looking for little hints of improvement.)
"Um, okay I guess, nothing out of the ordinary," I reply casually. For any person, this might be a good response to hear, but for me, 'the ordinary' is the reason that Anna and I are here, the reason that we have had weekly sessions for the past year and a half. I feel bad for her, really. She tries so hard, and starts every little 'adventure' with the clear intentions that I will arrive back at home cured. But I feel the same as I did almost two years ago, scared, jumpy, and paranoid.

I am not sure when exactly it all started. I did not suffer from any kind of trauma or head injury that I know of, but I was not born like this. Maybe there was some small event that made me this way, but if there was one, I don't remember it. Camping in the middle of carnivore-infested woods was just one of the things that my crazy therapist decided might help me deal with some of my fears. But obviously it is not helping me one bit, only introducing me to new things I realize that I should be afraid of. I want to get better, but it seems like I'm on my own there.

I shine the flashlight a little further ahead of me. Up, down, I spin around, making sure every tree gets a chance to be in the spotlight. Everything seems clear, though one can never be sure. I hear every squish of my feet on the damp ground; all the mushy pine needles damp from the afternoon's storms. Right now, I wish I was one of those pine needles. When you think of them, you realize that they have nothing to be afraid of. They are prettly much there forever. Especially in a place where there are few living things, like where I am now. But I continue along the path, keeping the beam right in front of my feet. I don't want to see or hear anything other than my own footsteps, as I shuffle though the woods to the only bathroom in this middle-of-nowhere campground.
My therapist thought that this would help me deal with my paranoia.