Dystopia

⌘ Depressed

Smart people keep their mouths shut. I consider myself rather smart, however my mother is not.

"So why she so weird Doc, is she mental?"

There's no consideration or filter on what escapes her lips. Every Wednesday for the past two months I have been going to a see a therapist to discuss my 'problems' and work through my 'issues'.

"Don't worry your daughter is not mental," Dr. Lèmmons tells my mother. I like to call him Lemon, to him it means he's made a break through or a connection to me and that I am comfortable enough to give affectionate nicknames. In reality I just like to mock him. It's one of only a few things in this world that brings me somewhat happiness.

"She's suffering from depression," Dr.Lèmmons tells my mother.

"I am certainly not," I finally speak up, he looked at me nettled.

Depression.

That's such a common word, such a cliche, I find it so unflattering. I suppose he believes I starve myself and slit my wrists too. I blame stereotypes.

"I don't understand Doc," my simpleton mother cannot grasp the fact that her version of weird is a matter of opinion. She's in her 40s and still walks around wearing crop tops and mini skirts looking rather indecent, that in my opinion is weird.

"Okay, if I were to describe her mind in one word I would use Dystopia" he made his way toward the chalk board in his office.

He began drawing something that had a smiley face on it. He gestured toward the picture. "Now what do you see?" he asked my mother.

"Yes right, a really badly drawn picture of a.. a tree with a smiley face!" my mother said with such enthusiasm you'd think we were playing a game of pictionary.

"Huh yes." he says sounding a bit offended. He writes a word underneath 'Utopia'.

"Now, Utopia is an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect," he explains.

He then goes and picks up the red chalk and drew another picture. "Now what do you see?" he pointed at the second picture.

"The tree exploding?" My mother says unable to fully interpret his terrible drawings.

"Yes" he responds, underneath he wrote the word 'Dystopia'.

"Now Dystopia is an imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, the opposite of utopia," he points distinguishing the two pictures.

"Now Lena is living in her own Dystopia," he says. I'm not sure if I completely agree with this statement but I hold my tongue anyway.

"Okay, so how do we fix her," my mother says bluntly.

Ouch the was hurtful. I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I'm sitting right here, sometimes I feel like they're oblivious to my presence. I may be miserable but I'm not suicidal, I'm also not a danger to myself or others, so I don't understand why I'm treated like a mental person.

"Well I strongly suggest a place called Harton Manner," he gave me a leaflet. God this sounds shit. I wonder how many messed up souls wander the halls of this place, or how they 'help' theses people to overcome their demons.

I begin to read part of the leaflet:

'Harton Manner provide troubled teens hope and tools for success on their way to recovery'

Their slogan caught my eye 'Smiles all around, happiness all around.'

Ha, that's funny, just because someone smiles does not mean they're happy, emotions can be hidden behind a smile. For many their smile is a mask.

This place is so full of crap it can pass for a toilet.

"It's a great place, I highly recommend it, if you are interested give me a call," of course he would recommend it, he's full of crap too.

On our way out Dr. Lèmmoms called me to the side. "Now Lena, I want you to think positive, I want you to give things a go, you know, think happy thoughts," he said smiling whilst pointing towards the happy green tree, "do you understand?"

Argh he's so patronizing. I'm not stupid I just don't care enough to respond.

Tapping his foot impatiently, he waits for a response.

I rolled my eyes "So you want me to think fairies and unicorns?" I ask him sarcastically. Why must I be guided by a nettlesome old man?

"Yes" he says, "now you must promise me, okay?" He asked me. I began to walk away and say ,"Maybe."

I don't make promises.