The Waiting Room

A Waiting Room

Maxine

Waiting rooms are always in my top five of the worst places to be in. No matter whether it's a dentist, a psychiatrist or that weird area of seats outside the headmaster or headmistresses room at high school. There are multiple reasons why waiting rooms are so unbearable but in my case the worst part of it is the other people. In every waiting room one other person will certainly be staring at you in a cannibalistic sort of way. The waiting room I'm currently in is situated in the local hospital and unfortunately I'm not here because I have cancer. At least from that it's an illness that you know will eventually kill you unless you get some early diagnosis or whatever. Mental illness is something that's just, there some you can cure some you just take stupid pills for it and everyone treats you like an invalid.

There are four other people in this specific waiting room. I'm the only one on the right side. Across from me is a boy about my age who is shifting awkwardly in his seat, sitting on his hands but occasionally bringing them up to push his glasses up his nose. He's dressed completely in black apart from his read headphones' Next to him is a lady in her late thirties wearing a bright pink dress and clutching a handbag on her lap. She looks like the type of person who would spend half her day offering lollipops to three year olds and the other half buying cat food. Next to her is a girl that just looks like your typical high school bitch. Her face is smothered in makeup and she's wearing heels that look like they could draw blood with the slightest touch. She's looking at her phone as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Maxine Wood?" A familiar yet painfully shrill voice calls from my left "Doctor Gilbert is ready to see you" I get up and walk towards the white door with bold black writing through the middle like I do every other Saturday.

Miles

She looks constipated. Likes she's going to explode. As the woman at the desk calls her she gets up and the red in her face fades. I'm sweating, it's too hot in here wearing black has its problems, no it's actually freezing in here. The psychiatric ward is kind of intriguing. You see all these different people and then you can begin to analyse them. I do enjoy doing that. If you looked at these people on the surface you could assume all these things about them but they could be wrong. Take the teen girl two seats down from me. Some people would immediately believe that she's anorexic. When in fact she could just have depression like every other teenager here. Or maybe she's a psychopath. I wouldn't be surprised if she was. I mean I've come across lots of girls like her just at school and by way that they behave they must be psychopaths.

I need to get new glasses or maybe I'm just sweaty. What if you looked at me? What would you think of me? Many people have said I'm an emo with a cutting problem. I've never cut myself. I just have really high levels of anxiety. I've tried to explain this to people but how do you expect such idiots to understand these sort of things. The worst thing about being me is not only do I have anxiety I'm also gay. So for people at school they've all decided that I'm a cutter that pervs on everyone in the locker rooms.

The lady at the office walks towards me and hands me a thick paper binder "Hey Miles here's your medical record that your dad was after"

"Thanks Anne I'll give it to him"

"See you next week Miles"

I get up and shove the binder in my backpack "See you"

I hate how sterile hospitals are, at every corner is a container of that antiseptic stuff. And every wall is white. Leaving is probably the happiest moment of my week, other than getting into a good book. That's a good feeling. The artificial light from the hospital leaves my skin and my eyes are flooded with the light from the sun. That could make a good song lyric.

I'll write it down when I get home.

Angela

Shit is the polish on my nails cracking again. I suppose that's what happens when you spend all your time on your phone. Honestly it's almost saddening how many people are obsessed with it. It's a funny form of surveillance. I can see what every person is doing at every moment of the day. I could check exactly what my boyfriend's doing whenever I want. I could double check via my friends and his friends.

I could make anyone I want feel like shit with 3 direct messages. And to think some people use this place as an escape. Well to be perfectly honest that's exactly what I'm doing. Fuck my shoes hurt. The top of my screen is shadowed by a message from my dad.

'I can't pick you up but there's $50 added into your bank account so you can get a taxi'

That lazy piece of shit. Honestly he prefers spending his days in that stupid office of his doing no work to getting into a car for two seconds. No wonder mums sleeping with that Gerard dude. Adults are incredibly two dimensional although so is most of the human race.

The woman at the desk calls my name so I walk over to my psychiatrist's room.

"Hi Angela how are you going?"

"Swimmingly" I reply my voice laced with a sarcastic sweetness "How are you doctor?"

"Fine, Fine" God I hate her fucking voice "So tell me how are things at home and at school anything in particular you feel like you want to talk about?"

"Home? Good, School? Fine. My life is incredibly bland sometimes, so I've really not got much to talk about" I say smiling my voice continued to be laced with a sickly sweetness I reserve for my teachers and her.

Every session is the same.

She asks pointless questions; I give her useless answers. Both of us waiting to catch the other out. It's a completely dismal waste of time.

"Well, that's time, I'll see you again next week Angela"

"Yes, see you next week"

I walk home, I like walking. People always stare at me, I enjoy that, their attention gives me energy.