The walls were white and all I could think about was how much I hated staring at the white walls, but there was nothing else to really look at. The lobby where Dr. White’s (seriously, how much more obvious can you get?) office was located was like a vast example of why interior decorators are much needed. I bit my lower lip and my mom patted her hand on top of mine, a gesture meaning “if you were to bite that lip any harder you wouldn’t have one”. She does things like that all the time, in a way it’s kind of like sign language, but mom style.
Dr. White stepped out of from his office behind the white door, “Hello Violet, how are we this morning?”
I covered my mouth with my hand and began to giggle. Dr. White was a tall man, maybe in his mid-thirties, but what really got me wasn’t the abnormally green eyes or the way he was grinning at me, it was his skin color, the charcoal I could stoke a fire with was even as dark as this man was. I don’t have anything against them, not by any measure, but to me that was the most ironic thing I had ever seen, next to me even being here in a shrink’s office at all.
I stepped into his office, leaving my mother behind. I knew she was going to leave, she always left to run to Starbucks and grab a giant cup of coffee, like that was going to suffice as alcohol so she could get through another day with her children and their multiple mental health problems. A ten year old girl whose oppositional-defiant but overly dependent, a son who most of the time sets himself aside from the world, delving himself into obsessions with gymnastics and video games, a five year old son who already seems bipolar and almost as defiant as the ten year old, and the eldest: a poor, withered, sixteen year old girl with PTSD and borderline-personality, suicidal thoughts and depression. Lovely right? oh yeah, and that sixteen year old girl? That’s me. Just thought I’d clarify.
“You seem happy”.
I smirked at him sitting across from me. The room was actually more of what was making me smile, the fact that there was nothing in the room besides a bookshelf with tons and tons of useless information on people with issues like me, and a couch and a desk with a computer on top of it. That was it. I hoped he knew that none of the books on that shelf would tell him what to do with me. Doctors and psychologists could write all they wanted too on every disorder out there, tell you what symptoms to look for, what therapies to try, but they won’t work. I promise. You can’t change what’s happened to someone in the past, if you could that would be the ultimate therapy, but it doesn’t exist. Until it does, psychology is useless.
“I’ll try to look more depressed and insane tomorrow”, I grinned from ear to ear.
He laughed at me and I was filled with more gleeful thoughts. At least his teeth lived up to his last name.
“What makes you think you’re insane?” He wasn’t even writing any of what I said down, he just sat back and listened to me talk like we were old buddies having lunch together or something. I could get used to that.
“I don’t think I am”.
“Really, then why do you suppose your here?”
I ground my teeth together. I knew what he was doing, he was trying to shrink wrap me. He was slowly putting on question upon question, burdening me down with everything I didn’t want to recall, what I didn’t want to talk about. He would put on all the wrapping paper, tape me over with debilitating advice, and then finally finish me off with a delightful little bow of a diagnosis. I know one thing is for certain: whoever gets me as a gift I feel very sorry for, they should return me immediately.
“because my mother is a coward”.
“Coward? That’s a strong word, he laid his hand on the side of his face, staring at me with an questionable look, like he was trying to decipher me.
I got off the subject, “your room is very bare”.
He began to laugh a little too loudly, “Well that’s because I wanted to take out everything in the room that someone could use to hurt themselves. I care very much about my patients you know”.
I almost laughed at this! My mind began to swirl and I looked across the room again, I could suffocate myself with the pillows he had neatly on the couch, tip the tall bookshelf over on my small frame, cut my wrists with the pages of any one of the books he had on the shelf, bash my head in with the computer monitor. Even with just about nothing in the room, this place was still a suicidal persons dream come true, butÂ I figured I’d better leave all this information out of the conversation.
“Psychology is a joke”, I shook my head in contempt. No one knew how to help, least of all this cheerful, maybe even creepy shrink who thought he could try. They all think they can try, but the truth is that no one can help me because they don’t understand, they didn’t live through what I lived through, haven’t gone through half of what I’ve had to endure, just one pain after another, one mistake after another, one tragic accident after another, one HELL after another. If Earth is this bad and horrible, then I don’t care if I go to hell, I really don’t. It can’t be worse off then what I’ve already been through my whole life, the devil seems like much better company to keep. At least he doesn’t have more then one personality to decipher, he’s all together evil. Well hey, at least it’s the truth.
“We will start up that conversation next time Violet, your mother will be waiting for you outside”.
I got up, turning back to him before I let the door close.
“Oh yeah, your name’s a joke too”.