killer in a drug induced haze.”
“This wasn’t a personal attack. Just a question. Haven’t you already been doing both? Perhaps the medication is helping.”
“I've been trying, but not accomplishing much. I don’t know, I feel like I'm fighting against it more than it's helping. I struggle constantly with apathy. I had been feeling a bit more normal today . . . before I came in here,” I muttered.
“You sound like you feel guilty.”
“Why would I feel guilty?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t.”
“Are you sure? Are you not feeling guilty about moving on with your life and leaving Danny behind? Perhaps you realize the medicine is doing its job and you're getting better so you want to stop that progress so you don't leave him. It would be natural.”
“No. I'm fine. I don't worry about forgetting Danny or leaving him behind. I just want to find him justice. He will always be with me. How about this scenario? You can’t have too many clients in such a small town. I bet you can hardly afford to lose one. Maybe you don’t want me to get better. Maybe you want to keep me coming back here and talking to you, never accomplishing anything except throwing more money into the pit that is supposedly my therapy.”
“There is no need to attack me, Ella. This isn’t personal.”
“What about it isn’t personal? You’re talking about me and my life. Everything is personal.”
“I'm glad you're doing better. I just want to make sure it's not only on the surface, that you haven’t tricked yourself into believing something that isn’t there.”
“Well, I suppose, only time will tell. But thank you, I'm in a much worse mood now.”
“Other than writing what have you done this week?”
“Nothing. I was focused.”
“Focused or obsessed?”
I rolled my eyes. “I went to the library and the grocery store.”
“Two public places in a week, that’s a lot for you. How did it go?”
“Not great.”
“Why?”
“They judged me.”
“Who did?”
“The people in the stores.”
“Are you sure they were judging you and you were not judging yourself?”
“I don’t know. Apparently, I'm nuts. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I think you're hard on yourself and you reflect your self-loathing onto other people.”
“Well doc, you have everything figured out. Session over.” I stormed out of his office early, flipping off the receptionist on the on the way. I knew my actions did little to support my case for my own sanity, but Dr. Livingston got under my skin better than anyone I had ever met.
I rode down the elevator feeling generally pissed off—at myself, Dr. Livingston, the universe. . . . I didn’t see Grant as I marched through the lobby of the hospital, but I wasn’t looking for him either.
“Hey!” I heard him shout from behind me. “Did you forget our date? I'm hurt.” Grant jogged up beside me.
“Date? I don’t think so.” I watched his face fall. He looked like a sad puppy. “But I did forget, sorry. I don’t feel much like having coffee.”
“You can’t get out of a promise that easily. You made a commitment. People shouldn’t just abandon their commitments, or they’ll come back to haunt you,” he said with an easy smile.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It was only coffee, it wasn’t like I was marrying the guy. “You’re preaching to the choir. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
“Bad visit?”
“One of many.”
“Well, my afternoon is pretty clear. We can go anywhere you want.”
“Fine.”
“There's a diner not far from here.”
“Molly’s?”
“Yes. It's a nice day. We should walk.”
“Whatever.”
Molly’s was the central hub of this little town. Clean, with teal linoleum floors and hardwood counters, it was retro in the best way. Molly, herself, was almost always behind the counter, wearing bejeweled cat glasses perched on the tip of her nose, with her artificially red hair pulled back into a tight bun. We took a seat
“This wasn’t a personal attack. Just a question. Haven’t you already been doing both? Perhaps the medication is helping.”
“I've been trying, but not accomplishing much. I don’t know, I feel like I'm fighting against it more than it's helping. I struggle constantly with apathy. I had been feeling a bit more normal today . . . before I came in here,” I muttered.
“You sound like you feel guilty.”
“Why would I feel guilty?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t.”
“Are you sure? Are you not feeling guilty about moving on with your life and leaving Danny behind? Perhaps you realize the medicine is doing its job and you're getting better so you want to stop that progress so you don't leave him. It would be natural.”
“No. I'm fine. I don't worry about forgetting Danny or leaving him behind. I just want to find him justice. He will always be with me. How about this scenario? You can’t have too many clients in such a small town. I bet you can hardly afford to lose one. Maybe you don’t want me to get better. Maybe you want to keep me coming back here and talking to you, never accomplishing anything except throwing more money into the pit that is supposedly my therapy.”
“There is no need to attack me, Ella. This isn’t personal.”
“What about it isn’t personal? You’re talking about me and my life. Everything is personal.”
“I'm glad you're doing better. I just want to make sure it's not only on the surface, that you haven’t tricked yourself into believing something that isn’t there.”
“Well, I suppose, only time will tell. But thank you, I'm in a much worse mood now.”
“Other than writing what have you done this week?”
“Nothing. I was focused.”
“Focused or obsessed?”
I rolled my eyes. “I went to the library and the grocery store.”
“Two public places in a week, that’s a lot for you. How did it go?”
“Not great.”
“Why?”
“They judged me.”
“Who did?”
“The people in the stores.”
“Are you sure they were judging you and you were not judging yourself?”
“I don’t know. Apparently, I'm nuts. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I think you're hard on yourself and you reflect your self-loathing onto other people.”
“Well doc, you have everything figured out. Session over.” I stormed out of his office early, flipping off the receptionist on the on the way. I knew my actions did little to support my case for my own sanity, but Dr. Livingston got under my skin better than anyone I had ever met.
I rode down the elevator feeling generally pissed off—at myself, Dr. Livingston, the universe. . . . I didn’t see Grant as I marched through the lobby of the hospital, but I wasn’t looking for him either.
“Hey!” I heard him shout from behind me. “Did you forget our date? I'm hurt.” Grant jogged up beside me.
“Date? I don’t think so.” I watched his face fall. He looked like a sad puppy. “But I did forget, sorry. I don’t feel much like having coffee.”
“You can’t get out of a promise that easily. You made a commitment. People shouldn’t just abandon their commitments, or they’ll come back to haunt you,” he said with an easy smile.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It was only coffee, it wasn’t like I was marrying the guy. “You’re preaching to the choir. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
“Bad visit?”
“One of many.”
“Well, my afternoon is pretty clear. We can go anywhere you want.”
“Fine.”
“There's a diner not far from here.”
“Molly’s?”
“Yes. It's a nice day. We should walk.”
“Whatever.”
Molly’s was the central hub of this little town. Clean, with teal linoleum floors and hardwood counters, it was retro in the best way. Molly, herself, was almost always behind the counter, wearing bejeweled cat glasses perched on the tip of her nose, with her artificially red hair pulled back into a tight bun. We took a seat
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