"Why am I depressed?" I repeat, trying to function the meaning of this question. I stare at the melon-green walls of my therapists office, my forefinger rubbing the leather chair I sit in, where it's worn and gone soft from my finger, after years.
"Why am I depressed." I say again, but this time it's a statement instead of a question. "Yes. Do you know why?" Dr. Hoffman asks. I look him in the eye, studying him carefully; his thick-lensed glasses, which sit perched on his nose, loose green tie, shirt sleeves rolled up, top button undone.
He sips on his coffee, and stares at me, only taking his eyes off me when he sets his mug down on the table in between us.
"Anna. You've been seeing me for three years now. That's a pretty long time, and I think I know you pretty well. There's something you're keeping from me. What is it, Anna?" He asks me, cautiously, in that tone of voice I've grown to know.
When he uses that voice, I feel like I'm a fragile egg perched on a spoon, which he carries in his mouth, as he runs towards the finish line, the final of my recovery.
This thought is comforting, though I wince as I realize that at any wrong move, he coud drop me, sending me tumbling towards the ground, where I will shatter into pieces.
"Anna? Anna, you're zoning out on me again." He snaps his fingers, and I come back into focus, shaking my head. "Oh. Sorry. Dr. Hoffman, I;ve told you everything I can. Everything there is to know, is written down in the legal pad you keep when we meet. If what you need is not in there, then it doesn't exist at all."
I say this quietly, staring down at my white Keds and Care Bear scrubs, glancing at my watch which reads 12:45. My lunch break ends in 20 minutes, and it'll take me 5 minutes to walk to the hospital, I calculate in my head, determining that I have about 12 minutes before I need to leave.
"Anna, they'll understand if you run a little late. Relax, and tell me what's on your mind." He says, reading my mind per usual. I frown, "I already told you; there's nothing on my mind- well, other than the usual." I mutter, and Dr. Hoffman raises an eyebrow.
"Well, at least tell me what "the usual" is." He insists, and I shake my head, "It's not fair of me to ask Jenna to cover my shift again. Her daughter needs to be picked up from school in 45 minutes, and if I stay, she'll never make it. Anyways, Bob's working late at the warehouse, and he can't pick up Emma either."
I point out, and slip into my grey sweater. It brings me a sense of comfort to feel the scratchy wool against my skin, and I bring the sleeve up to my nose, inhaling the warm scent of lavender.
"You're sure? Really, I could call the hospital and get a different nurse to cover your shift," He insists half-heartedly, even though he knows I've mjade my decision. I shake my head, grabbing my purse, as I pull open the door. "Thanks for listening." I reply, smiling before I head out the door. Aw crap. I scowl, realizing that I've had nothing to eat today other than a banana at 7:00.
Hurrying down the stairs, I hope I can make it to Subway before i get to the hospital.
, but I'll make sure I do that now. I don't mean to sound harsh and rude, I'm sorry if I do. I really like your idea. Keep on writing! Tell me when you've finished your next installment!
Once I remembered what story this ways, my heart started to race with joy. I remembered feeling very empty and wanting answers about what you set up. However, this part really didn't do anything for me. You have Anna sitting in the psychiatrist's office and wondering about her schedule-it seems like filler, basically. Is the doctor the same person from the first part of the story? If so, that's cool that you followed up with that character. However, aside from that, there's not a mention to any previous events that took place in Part 1. They could really be two separate stories as of now. So yeah, connect!