Those two little words are both rapturous and the bane of my existence. My memories have led me to this place, this abyss of depression and anxiety. It’s a mental prison filled with the screams of the past, a place of oppressive darkness.
I sat in the glaring white office of Dr. Wilson Friskers and wondered what was the big deal about extremes. If I told the truth, I tried to lose myself in anything, no matter how trivial, instead of dealing with reality.
Because my reality sucked.
I had enlisted the aid of this quack to help save my marriage. He failed, or rather, I failed. I kept going to him, even after I lost my marriage. He sat there in his Armani suit and high-end glasses and watched me.
“So, you have no desire to get re-married?”
His office was as bland as the doctor I told my problems to. A diploma hung behind his metal desk. His desk was empty of clutter, the lone object on it was his desktop computer. Dr. Wilson Friskers peered over his glasses at me.
“Why not? Do you find being single a better choice?”
“No,” I said as I shook my head. ” God put some of us on the planet to be alone. I’m one of them.”
“So, it’s God’s fault you’re not remarried?”
“No. It’s no one’s fault.”
“Then why not pursue love? Are you afraid to try again?”
“I’m not afraid. Why waste my time trying to find someone and going through all the trouble? People aren’t real with their feelings. Why go through all the effort, when they won’t stay? I’ve been in relationships before, they all end the same way.”
“How do they end?”
“Usually, the other party pulls up and leaves like a whimper in the night.”
“They leave? Don’t you stay friends with them?”
“What sense does that make,” I asked. Friskers stared at me like I had taken leave of my senses. “I wish,” I thought to myself. I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t made the leap to full-blown insanity. Part of me wanted to enjoy the full benefits of love. The other part was hell-bent to never have anything to do with that dastardly emotion ever again.
“You sound a bit jaded, son.”
I stayed quiet and thought about what I wanted to eat for lunch. Outside the window a raven sat on the limb of a maple tree. It’s black eyes bored into mine. This conversation had grown tired.
“Yes. You’re very bitter.”
“For 165 bucks an hour all you can do is state the obvious? What a waste of money.”
“And now sarcasm…”
Dr. Friskers was a middle-aged man. He had a round face and looked as if he’d aged like soured milk. I mean to say that he was chunky and grumpy. He parted his thin hair on the left side, and he kept his goatee trimmed. Doc looked professional. Tired. But professional.
He cleaned his glasses and looked at me. His eyes showed zero emotion. I got the feeling I was only a number to him. At this point in my life, I knew I meant nothing to most of the folks in my life.
Which pushed me to the point I am at today. It was time for a change. Doc Friskers looked at his watch and put his glasses back on. He smiled.
“Our time is drawing short, Fredericks. Is there anything else you would like to get off your chest?”
“Well, I will see you next week. Does Thursday at 1300 fit in your schedule?”
He reached for an ink pen and wrote down my appointment in his small ledger. I stood to my feet and turned to go to the door. Friskers stood and extended his hand to me.
“Thank you for your service to our country.”
“Sure. For all the good it did.”