Auburn Circle
speak to someone who only tells me bad news because they feel obligated to. I know who the real selfish person in that scenario is. The doctor asks me if I have any questions, and I think about it. I can’t find any so I say no and get out of the chair and leave. The chairs in my therapist’s office are usually pretty comfortable, but today they aren’t. I don’t know why though. He asks how the depression is doing and I tell him that it’s going good. I tell him that he was right. The reason I had stayed in bed not eating, not sleeping, not bathing or peeing or pooping, watching movie after movie for four straight days the week before wasn’t because I was depressed, which I thought, but it turns out it was because I was actually sick with a real illness. He says mono, wasn’t it? And I talk about how I like the lighting in his office. The overhead, fluorescent light is always off and he has about six lamps around the room that make a golden light and make the
colors in his office feel safe to be around. His voice gets softer. I ask him if he likes to watch movies. Not just as a thing he does, but as a hobby he’s passionate about. He says no. I decide he doesn’t need to know. I don’t want to be that person. He has to listen to people talk about their problems all day. People who as kids sometimes woke up with their stepdad’s semen on their face. People who were kidnapped and beaten until they went unconscious and miss it. People who can’t shop in grocery stores because they would stay in there for hours rearranging the cans and bags and boxes forever and ever until they got thrown out or something. My problems aren’t as bad so why bother mentioning them. It’s not that big a deal. I let the guy have an hour of peace for once. My dad calls me like he usually does and asks how I’m doing. I say I’m doing fine. I tell him about the last movie I saw, which was
“Vulnerable” by Nicole Degree 13