Doctors Appointment

Spoiler alert, I had depression

That first week at Nick and Michelle’s I moved between the dining room and the lounge room in my pyjamas. Michelle made me go and shower a few times, and Nick managed to wash my pyjamas, so I didn’t even smell. I slept a lot. I cried a lot. Michelle made me an appointment with a doctor, a friend of theirs, Dr Bill, an expert in depression. Nick walked me around the corner to his surgery. Although Nick was right there, I felt exposed and raw. The waiting room is like all waiting rooms, a miasma of germs and misery floating in the air under the fluorescent lights. It isn’t all the junkies surrounding me waiting for their urine results or methadone scripts, although some of them do look a little frightening, that makes me feel panicky. It is just being out in public, I feel like people can see that there is something wrong with me. The seemingly 16-year-old yellowy blonde receptionist with the clicky clacky nails must think I am on something because I can’t seem to understand anything she says.

‘Asyouhavnbeenerebeforeyouneedtojusfillallyourdetailsonthisformandbringitbackwhenyouaredone.’

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘Jusfillintheform’ she whines. The sound of her voice feels like a car alarm in the long whoop whoop part of its cycle.