Welcome To Therapy

        

Hey, you. Listen to me. This is normal, right? These... voices. They're supposed to be here... Right?

You tell me to relax, calm down, take a seat on the too-stiff, too-fake, too make-your-troubles-go-away-as-if-there's-somewhere-for-them-to-go couch. Reluctantly, I sit. Maybe you will actually listen to me if I'm sitting. Maybe it's some weird power hungry thing you have. You don't feel so small when I'm on this couch. Maybe, just maybe, you have problems of your own. I don't know. Not as though I'll ever find out, either. This is one-sided. I pay you, you pretend to listen, pretend to care. There is no bond here. I unload troubles, not fully unleashing my feelings, as you scribble about how all you want to do is finish this god-awful hour so you can get home and bang your unwilling wife.

 

As I'm in the middle of explaining my sex life to you and how it's been non-existent, the buzzer on your desk lets out a high hum. A look of relief sweeps across your face that you quickly mask as you switch the pen from your left hand to your right, reaching over to silence the alarm.

 

I take a moment to glance around this room. It's about a third of the size of my apartment. In the back of my mind, I faintly remember reading an article that had research done that stated smaller spaces made people feel less exposed. How stupid, isn't therapy a revelation of your life? I look at the ceiling, with the off-white tiles and the little holes in them. They remind me of air holes, as though I'm trapped in a box, my life being led by some careless young kid eager to show the world they can take care of something, rather than showing that they can barely take care of themselves. They're too naive. Which, in a way, is why I'm here. Welcome to therapy, kid. Remember little Freddy? Your first ever hamster that you showed all your friends who goggled at it until it became boring, you became bored, and uh-oh, little Freddy was no more. Looking down, I see the blue and green checkered carpet design that looks as though it was drawn by a blind man. I hate this place so much, yet I spend more time here than I do anywhere else, in hopes that sometime, someday, I'll be able to get out there and live life again. I roll my eyes and close them. Yea, right.