“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” ~William Shakespeare
The red clock ticked. That’s all I pay attention to. I’m expected to answer a certain question. A certain question I have no interest in answering. She lifts her eyebrows in questioning. I shrug my shoulders. She sighs.
“You do that a lot you know,”
I know. I shrug my shoulders in reply again. The question was, why do I think I’m in here. The Physiatrist’s office I mean. The correct answer being my visual and auditory “hallucinations”, my night terrors, and my paranoia. My answer being:
“Because my mother thinks I’m back-crack crazy, which she takes out onto my father, so instead of facing their inanimate divorce, which they’re bound to have anyway, they decide that “fixing” me will inevitably cure their marriage.”
A silence drapes over the room. The red clock ticks.
