The doctor asks how its going; I tell him.
I tell him every time I’m alone in a room it’s all I can do to keep from hitting myself in the head over and over again. I tell him when I’m with a group of friends I sometimes shout out curse words or scream softly then when they ask what I said I either laugh it off like nothing happened or make up a lie on the spot.
“This beer is just awful.”
“I said ‘fuck’ six times because I think I might have left the oven on.”
“I think I had a muscle spasm.”
He asks what I’m doing to deal with the stress and I ask if he’s even listening.
I tell him I don’t want to take the pills anymore because all they do is make me feel dead inside.
He tells me I need them because when I don’t take them I want to kill myself.
I tell him that’s true so why is he giving me what I want?