The receptionist gives me one of those fake, superficial smiles and she crosses my name off her list. 'The doctor will see you in a moment. You may wait in here.' She disappears into the next room.
I sit down. It's a pretty plain room, ghastly yellow walls, plastic seats, a table full of magasines. A journey to happiness written in bright bold letters right next to me. The ironyt Silence reigns in this room, an awkward, deafening silence that makes your ears hurt from straining so much. Silence, that is, except for the irritating tick-tock of the large white clock hanging on the wall opposite me. Tick-tock tick-tock... It's enough to drive me insane ! I can picture myself, tearing that blasted thing off the wall, throwing it to the ground before I jump on it, shattering it into a million pieces. But I don't, because I have what is known as « inborn-strength ». I can keep my anger under control, or at least I keep it hidden, burning and bubbling inside me, waiting for that inevitable day when I would have hidden it for too long. What goes in must go out. With every second I feel the hairs on my arms raising, the thuds of my heart growing heavy until I can't take it anymore. Stupid clock ! Stupid time that passes so much ! Stupid beating heart ! Time goes by fast and grants people no favors.
I turn my attention to the girl sitting in front of me. I hadn't even noticed she was there until now. What a pitiful sight. I can read her like a book ! Her whole story is on display like a tacky old artifact in a meseum. I hate that about people, when they are so predictable, so readable. I can see every one of her weak spots. With this girl, it is her weight. I can tell by the way she crosses her arms over her stomach, as if she were keeping it a secret. People like that disgust me. They have no way to hide what they really are. Anyone can look at them and know what they're feeling, what they're thinking. They are vulnerable, and probably drench their pillows evey night with self-pity and loneliness. She's not perticularily good looking either. Definetly out of shape. And her clothes ! So shabby and unfashionable.
Our eyes meet every now and then, but as soon as they do we both look away in perfect synchronisation. I try not to look at her too much, I won't grant her that honour, just like time hasn't granted her any favours. Her pale face clashes with the bright yellow wall behind her, and from the corner of my eye I can see her nervous eyes flutter here and there. Disgusting. Laughable. She is the kind of girl who panics, the kind who worries every time someone notices her. She obviously wouldn't be able to defend herself, and I have no doubt that she was often picked on and bullied during school. Anyone who met her would be able to see that. It's as clear as water.
We both wait in silence for the doctor to come out and call our name. He disgusts me too. I'm just another patient, another paycheck that he can fill his pocket with. And then he goes home, to his pefect wife and his perfect children. No doubt they have a perfect dog, too. And then they go on holidays to places like Ibiza or Saint Tropez. I sometimes wonder if he actually cares, or if he just anticipates my money. 'Yes, yes, I'll listen to all your problems in exchange for your credit card number !' I can just picture him, sitting there, counting every single check I have given him since I first started coming to this place. How many now ? It must be at least thirty...
My thoughts flutter back to the girl, and now I feel guilty. Maybe I shouldn't have been so harsh on her. If she's here, then she's here for help. People have always told me that I look for the worst in people. Especially myself... But then, there's nothing really good about me. I can't help it. I've always been this way, and unless the doctor suddenly sprouts some miracle making hands, I will always be this way. It is my essence. 'Don't be so pessimistic, Jay ! Lighten up a bit ! You just need to learn how to be less of a sad person !' Oh, I've heard them all. From my friends, my parents... They mean well of course, they want to help me. But they can't. Because they don't understand. I don't expect them to understand. How can they ? They live on, completely blind to life, thinking that their happiness will endure forever. I hope it does, just for their sake. I can't imagine what it would be like for them to be faced with the deep void that haunts my mind day after day...
I jump as the door opens suddenly. My mind has wondered so far it takes me a few moments to realise that it's the doctor. 'Good morning, Jay ! How are you doing today ?' I give my usual answer, 'Fine' as I and my reflection get to our feet. I turn away from the large, dominating mirror over which is written « Love yourself » and towards the doctor, putting on my best fake, superficial smile.
