“Most of my fantasies revolve around holding hands or laying in bed together sometime during the morning right after we wake up.” I say from the horizontal position of a therapist couch thing.
“And why is that? Are you afraid of intimacy?” asks the so called doctor.
“To me those are the most intimate moments. The closest you can be to a person. Its all that really matters to me.”
I lose myself in the paint speckled ceiling above me. Wishing it was a patch of blue sky with a cloud passing by every other minute. But I’m here in a therapist office because I’ve lost control. I’ve lost my thoughts. And I’m losing the only thing that matters to me.
“Have you tried exorcise?” the therapist spits out, finally catching my attention.
“No, I’ve always looked this skinny.” I say rolling my eyes giving off the highest vibe of sarcasm I can send out.
“Yes, I’ve exorcised! I still do.” I half yell out in reply.
“Oh.” and here come the half responses and empty answers that I could give myself for less then $15 an hour.
“If I haven’t done everything I could to make this better I wouldn’t be here right now. I would still be somewhere else trying to make it better.” I sigh.
And this is why I’m depressed as fuck. No one has a fucking answer. Even when its there job to have an answer. There specialty they’ve trained for. Just empty responses.
“I’m going now.”
She won’t say anything. I already know that. I’ve instigated every conversation since-
“How’d it go?” she asks.
“Uhh, horrible to be honest.” this is odd.
“Why, what happened?” she asks again.
“Nothing happened. If I wanted nothing to happened I would of just talked to a wall for $15 less an hour.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve already been doing that and it hasn’t been working.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I grimace at those words. Those overly truth filled words. You don’t even know but somehow you do.
“You’re not going to get better without putting in some effort.” she says, half demanding me to action. Please stop acting like you care.
“You don’t see 80% of the effort I put in.”
“Why is that?”
Because your blind. You ignore it. All these things I do I consider effort. Just talking to you is the hardest thing for me on most days.
“Most things I do you don’t think take effort.” I finally reply.
Please stop digging into me. Soon I’ll say something stupid.
“Like just showing up I guess.” I spit out a shitty ass answer for her too deep of a question I wish I had the balls to answer.
“Really.” she says more as a statement then a question.
“Really.” I reply.
“Any better lately?” asks the therapist.
No, not really. Everything feels worse. And here you are making $15 an hour and all you have is this shitty cliche couch.
“Its a little better I guess.” I lie.
“Good, good.” the therapist says while taking a few notes.
This is stupid. This whole idea. Where did I even get this from.
She suggested it.
I sit up on the cliche couch slowly. The therapist stares me down.
“I know my problems. I know my answers.” I say with a low voice.
“Oh really.” says the therapist with a tad bit of arrogance seeping from the mouth.
“Yeah, and these answers suck.”
“Why is that?”
“Because they hurt. Because there not the answers I want. Because I want-No, I need more from life then this.” I say while clenching my fist at my side.
“What is it that you want from life?” stupidly asks the therapist.
“Its what I need.”
“What is it that you need.” says the therapist with a nonverbal sigh.
I need acceptance.
“I don’t know.” I lie again.
“You just said you knew the answer.”
“Well, sometimes being the only one with the answers is a sad life that lacks all forms of validation.” I sigh.
I walk in with my deepest darkest mood. No one says a thing to me. An the hours pass on without conversation. Working silently with the deadest possible look in my eyes.
I could monologue about depression and all that shit right now but I think we all get the idea. I could describe the scene in great detail but it doesn’t actually add to this story. I don’t feel anything so its pointless. Everything, every face, every bit of scenery is just a blur of gray to my eyes.
And the day goes on.
“BOOM!” a loud smack against the table behind me makes my skin jump but not my body. I remain still as I’m awaken from nothing for a split moment.
“Hey!” she shouts as she walks up from behind me.
“What’s wrong with you?” she says while glaring at me.
“Talk.” she demands.
“What?” I ask glaring back hoping it will make her stop and walk away.
“What is your fucking problem today.” she half whispers/screams at me.
“Its not helping.”
“What isn’t helping?”
“The thing you told me to do.” I sigh because it should of been obvious. But she only half remembers and holds half conversations with me.
“The therapist?” she stares.
“Why, whats wrong?” she asks while looking concerned.
Don’t give me that look. That false stare of caring. I know the truth. I know none of this really matters to you. It annoys the living fuck out of me.
“Stop bullshitting me.” she says while leaning over the table in front of me.
I stare. Dying every second she stands in front of me.
“Knock knock.” I say.
“Knock knock.” I repeat.
“Who’s there?” she asks cautiously.
“I don’t know.” and I start to laugh uncontrollably.
She starts to laugh a little with half the smile she usually has.
I don’t have the answers. Sometimes I wonder if I even have the questions.
Nothing, absolutely nothing can make me alright.
But sometimes things happen that I can’t really explain. Odd bits of reality that shouldn’t exist and they make me happy. Happy is such a faint thought to me. Life doesn’t make me happy. Certain people do.
I must care somewhat about myself If I’m attempting to be around these people.