Am I truth or am I fiction?

Rain.
The drops dry out on the pavers as soon as they land.
I am sitting in the waiting room listening to an aria as the first rain falls amidst a state-declared drought. It's a dramatic scene, the detail is perfect, and I am moved by the moment.
Always ready to add something, I think about stepping in as the character who goes out to dance in it. 
I resist.

I am waiting to see the psychologist.
I’m going to tell her my story.
Or what I think is my story;
I can’t be so sure anymore.
​Truth and fiction have blurred.