Lorelai Anchors #1

I-it was a lapse in sanity th-that brought me here, I’m sure. I-I mean, I know that Bear recommended it, b-but… Only a c-crazy person would have picked up th-the phone to make an appointment with a th-therapist b-based on that sug-suggestion, r-r-right?

After all, he doesn’t know why I’m so thin and pale all of the time. No one does, so I can’t expect him to know, nor do I think he suspects anything. We aren’t close. I just work for him sometimes, that’s all. When I’m out in Central Park, playing my banjo, and he’s pushing around his ice cream cart thing, and wants to go get some coffee or something, I take over for him. He pays me for it, too, which is nice because I don’t have a job. But Bear (his name’s actually Teddy, but he looks big and cuddly so I nicknamed him ‘Bear’) told me I always looked so sad, and when I told him I couldn’t tell him why, he told me his friend was a therapist and might be able to change everything.

If I weren’t so soft, I probably would have just ignored it. But… He gave me the number and offered to pay for the visit, so I thought ‘what would it hurt?’ I suppose I should have thought about that more thoroughly, though, because now I’m sitting here, wishing I were back in my bed. Goodness, bed sounds marvelous right now.

I sleep a lot. Not because I’m lazy, b-because I’m not, but because it makes me so… Tired. And ill. And depressed. Sometimes, I’m all three at once. There are days I don’t get out of bed at all, because I can’t. I feel as though, if I moved, I’d throw up or pass out or just break down and cry. I-I don’t want to do that, ever. So I just sleep.

I’ve never told anybody, though. I don’t want to tell a stranger. I made some mistakes and now I’m paying for them, I know that. I’m going to die. I-I mean, n-not right away or anything… But early on in life, I’ll die. I’m only twenty one. I’ll be lucky if I hit thirty -- it’s not like I’m doing anything productive with my life anyways, though. Like I said, I sleep a lot, and play my banjo in the park.

I named my banjo Louis, by the way. I love him.

This waiting room is so cold. Not just in temperature, but in… Attitude. It’s just so silent. I don’t know why there are so many people here right now, but I figure that the office is just backed up. This must mean that this is a good therapist, so I should be happy, right? Relieved th-that I’ll be in good hands. Bear said he came highly recommended. I trust Bear, don’t I?

But still. There are three other men sitting in here right now, waiting. One seems just as nervous as I, and has been fumbling about with his hands for awhile. The other two have been shooting back obscene comments at one another the whole time they’ve been here, and I’ve tried not to listen. I don’t like eavesdropping. It’s… Rude. I don’t like to be rude. But every now and then, the bigger one hits the other a-and it makes me kind of uncomfortable.

So I try not to pay much attention.

A woman stepped in at that point, looking annoyed and making a beeline for the nervous looking man. She exclaimed his name and I shifted awkwardly, redirecting my gaze over to the fish tank in the corner.

Author's Note

Yes, I am aware that many of her thoughts are irrational, and I am aware that things have not been specified.