Happy Pills | Falsettos DISCONTINUED

.xiii.

"So, Marvin, how have the past couple days been?" Mendel asked, flipping open his notebook. He was oddly cheery.
I shrugged. "Didn't really feel any different than any other week, but I could see Whizzer actually trying to make an effort to connect with me and help me get better." I replied nonchalantly. "I'm sorry, Mendel, I really need to stop bringing him up."
"No, no, this is good," He wrote something before looking up at me. "What did he do?"
"Well, the other night, when I took Jason for ice cream," He nodded. "I went for a drive before going back to the apartment and my mind drifted, as it does, which lead to a spiral and eventual breakdown. I accidentally woke Whizzer up and he comforted me and helped calm me down. Then, the next morning, or yesterday, I guess, he made me get out of bed at nine a.m, then he took me to the park where we had one of our first dates, not that that really matters to you, then he took me to a fancy dinner."
"And none of this made you feel even the tiniest bit of joy or happiness?"
"No, I was moreso pissed at the fact he got me up so early, but it did kind of wear off once we got to the park. From there on, it was just numbness. Which is weird, I know I should've felt happy, but I just couldn't.
At times, I seemed to get lost and I was able to push everything to the side, but it didn't feel like genuine happiness. It felt generated for me, like I wasn't the one feeling it, but I was. If that even makes sense,"
"I think I get what you're trying to say. Why do you think you felt this way?"
"I don't know. Isn't it your job to tell me why?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, it's my job to help bring you to the conclusion of why you're not happy. Not just give you all the answers."
I hummed in response.

Mendel furrowed his eyebrows in thought before giving me an empty sheet of paper and a pen.
"We're gonna try something different, okay?"
I just looked at him, unsure of what to expect.
"It's something I've seen work with other patients, but that doesn't mean it'll work perfectly for you."
I nodded.
"What I want you to do is take some time to write a story, poem, paragraph, monolog, soliloquy, whatever, about how you've felt in the past week, month, year, or day. It's entirely up to you."
"Why are we doing this?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "Like, what's this supposed to do for me?"
"It should help us uproot some of your insecurities or buried emotions. When my other patients did this, they wrote things they never thought they'd discuss with anyone else. It's like they go into a trance and let their hand do everything without thinking twice about it."
I sighed. "Okay,"

I took a few moments to think about what I was going to write, before just letting my hand take over. By the end of it, I was surprised, just like Mendel said.

He looked up from his notepad. "Done?"
I nodded.
"Can I read it?"
I shook my head.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not even comfortable reading what I wrote, Mendel. It's full of things I never want another living soul to see, including myself. I see what this exercise was supposed to achieve, but I can't let you read it. I'm sorry."
"Marvin, I'm not gonna judge you; I'm a doctor, it's my job to do this. Please, let me read it." He held out his hand expectantly.
I sighed, handing him the paper.
His eyes widened as he read over what I'd written.
"Have you been taking your medicine?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Mendel, I've been taking the pills."
"I... I honestly don't know what to say after reading this."
I shrugged. "You told me to write whatever."
"Yes, but I've never seen anything this depressing."
"I'm depressed, what'd you expect?"
"'It's like I'm drowning and they're all watching
I'm struggling and gasping for air
While everyone around me watches and whispers,
Confused as to why they can breath fine and I can't'." He quoted from my 'poem'.
I nodded.
"Do you really feel as though you're drowning?"
"I feel like the best analogy for depression is drowning, yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know," I whined. "Because it feels like the air is getting thinner and the world is closing in around you. I'd imagine that's what drowning feels like. It's like everyone around can swim fine, or is mentally stable and healthy, while I drown and sink, or face my depression. They all watch, confused as to why they can all breathe fine and stay afloat while I can't, because they can't imagine what it's like to be weighed down by your depression."
His eyes widened again as he looked back down to the sheet of paper.

"'Nothing ever goes the way it's supposed to,
Everything seems to fuck me over in the end
And things only get worse.
It's all downhill,
And it's all my fault'." He quoted again. "What exactly so you mean by this?"
"I mean that even my attempted suicide fucked me over. If I would've thought ahead, even the slightest, I would've taken the spare key out from its hiding spot and Charlotte and Cordelia wouldn't've found me and I would've been able to die peacefully. I mean that ever since I got out of the hospital, everything seems to be getting worse and nothing ever gets better. My relationship with Whizzer isn't wonderful, though it never has been, but we fight more than normal and usually about my mental stability. My son hates me because of what I tried to do and everyone else in my life babies me now because they're afraid if they say the wrong thing, it'll send me over the edge!" I exploded. I didn't even know I was so angry about this until I started going. And then I just couldn't stop.

Mendel looked shocked. "And here I thought the most worrying line in the whole thing was 'I hate myself, I want to cry. I hate myself, I want to die.' but clearly I was wrong, it's obviously this little stanza." He glanced at his watch. "Time's up, but we're touching more on this stuff on Monday."
I huffed. "Okay."
"Try to have a good weekend, Marvin."
"I'll try." I muttered angrily.