Behind the Scenes: The Making of ‘Crooked’.

Hi! So here is a story I wrote, it has some graphic scenes so reader discretion advised.

I thought I’d write an entry on here including a story I wrote about the complicated and often unsettling experience of therapy. The story delves into the themes of mental health struggles, the search for understanding and resolution, and the potentially painful and uncomfortable journey towards healing.

So here it is:


“Every night I wake up under the same crooked tree,” I said, squeezing the words through my teeth.

“Go on,” my counsellor looked at me with a straight face. Neck slightly crooked like the very tree I was talking about.

“Well, you see… It’s not a dream. I know that.”

“How do you know that?” she said crooking her neck to the other side.

“Well, I wake up under this damn tree every time, off the highway close to where I live. It’s a 13-minute walk.”

“13-minute walk… Exactly?” her neck tilted to the other side again. It was as though every time she spoke she had to recharge by cranking her neck to the opposite side. It was jarring.

“Yes… Exactly…” not wanting to pause for too long, I continued. “This tree, it’s crooked, I’m always leaning back against it, using it for a place to rest my head. I could think of better spots for that of course, but, it’s where I wake up. I end up walking back to my house with everything open. The front door, my bedroom door, even the TVs turned on for chrissakes. Always channel 13 too, which is always off.”

“I feel the number 13 is significant here,” she says tilting her neck to the other side. Looking quite uncomfortable. 


“Hmm,” her neck tilted again. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” again. She crooks her neck over.

“Why do you keep crooking your neck every time you say something.”

An eerie silence enters the room. Only for a moment.

“Erm, I’m not sure I follow you,” she crooks her neck over to the other side, her neck bent at quite an aggressive angle.

“Your neck…” I say pointing.

“What about it?” Her neck crooks over again.

“Are you not realising this?” 

Confused and panicked, now I’m hoping that her neck does not crook over anymore. If it becomes any more severe the next few times I’m sure her neck will break. 

“Is this some type of metaphor for how you feel?” She says her neck crooking over, once again.

“Look… you need to stop doing that,” her neck now twisted at such an acute angle, a few more times could be fatal.

“Doing what Daniel?” She says now her left ear almost touching her shoulder. 

“Your necks going to break if you carry on doing this”

“I thought the aim of this was to get to the root of your problems of guilt. Your depression you talk about so often.” Her neck crooks again as her right ear goes past her shoulder and I hear the bones in her neck crack. Her eyes fixed on mine.


I get up from my seat and try to stop what’s about to happen.

“Daniel?”  Her neck crooks again.


I scream stumbling and falling into the glass table that separated us.

“Please Danie…”

Her neck twists round at an angle which forced it to crack and break. A shard of bone poked out from her neck. Blood spewing out like a fountain of water. I sat in frightening horror as I watched my therapist’s neck snap like a twig. The blood squirted onto my face blinding me as I squeezed my eyes shut. The cuts on my forearms pained from the shattered glass that dug into them.

“Help!!” I screamed out. 

My neck crooking to one side…

Photo by Jesu00fas Silvosa on

So there it is!

When I wrote “Crooked,” I was exploring the idea of therapy being a strange, painful experience. Like the protagonist in the story, I often felt like my therapist was twisting my neck in uncomfortable ways, pushing me to confront difficult emotions and memories that I would rather forget.

The crooked tree in the story represents the recurring issues that I was grappling with. Just like the protagonist wakes up under the same tree every night, I found myself stuck in a cycle of negative thoughts and emotions that I couldn’t seem to shake. Therapy was supposed to help me find my way out of that cycle, but it often felt like I was just leaning against the same crooked tree over and over again.

The repetition in the story is also reflective of how therapy can feel like a never-ending cycle. I would go to my therapist week after week, talking about the same issues, and yet never feeling like I was making any progress. It was frustrating and demoralizing, and I often left therapy feeling worse than when I arrived.

The twist ending of the story – with the therapist’s neck snapping – represents the pain and discomfort that therapy can sometimes cause. Confronting difficult emotions and memories can be like breaking a bone – it hurts, but it’s necessary for healing. In my experience, therapy often felt like a painful process, but I knew that it was necessary if I wanted to move forward and heal.

Overall, “Crooked” is a reflection of my own experience with therapy. It’s a reminder that healing can be a painful and uncomfortable process, but that it’s worth it in the end. Like the protagonist in the story, I had to confront my fears and discomfort in order to find a way out of the cycle of negativity and pain that I was trapped in. Therapy may have been painful at times, but it ultimately helped me to become a stronger and more resilient person.

What do you think? Did you enjoy the story? Let me know in the comments below!

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