A bed is never more comfortable than when you’re supposed to be getting up. You’re grouchy but you get up anyway because if you don’t, you’ll be late for your appointment and you’re never late. You force some cereal into your mouth. Breakfast is normal. Eating is good for you. You shower and get dressed. None of your clothes look right and you try on various combinations of outfits until you give up and wear something predictable and comfortable. Your hair looks terrible but you do your best to fix it. You’re not aiming for anything amazing. You just want to look presentable.
You get in the car and blast the air-conditioning. The cold air helps you focus as you drive to your appointment. At the traffic lights you take deep breaths and laugh about the fact that therapy, the thing which is supposed to help you is one of the things which makes you feel the most anxious. Your car makes you feel safe even when you have invasive thoughts about driving into telegraph poles. It’s your own little bubble. You get to your appointment just as the doctor comes out into the waiting room. Perfect timing.
He still wants you to increase your antidepressant but you’re unsure about it so you tell him you will think about it. Again. You can be pretty honest with him and you tell him that sometimes you feel like crying when you look at your cat because she is so sweet and so reliant on you. You feel guilty when you think about ending your life because your cat would probably be distressed and confused.
You tell him that your father is unwell but you haven’t spoken to him because you don’t have much to do with each other. You feel guilty because he’s unwell. You feel guilt over a lot of things. He wants to start talking about serious stuff. You want to ask why he has a protein bar on his desk.
You drive home and the guilt stays with you. The radio doesn’t drown it out. When you get home you ring your father because that’s exactly what you don’t want to do. You ring him because sometimes you just freaking have to do this sort of thing. You can’t stand the thought of people thinking you’re slack. You’re not close. You’re barely in contact. You have a lot of unresolved shit but he’s your father and he’s sick.
You feel much lighter after the phone call and you can relax a bit knowing that after therapy is the longest time before the next session.You change out of your ridiculous clothes, tie up your awful hair and give the cat a hug.