My mom made me an appointment with a psychiatrist. His office is right in the mall. When she told me about it, I quipped that it was very convenient that the shopping center offered its patrons both manic consumption and the psychological help to cure it, but she didn’t get the joke. He came with me to the office. As we walked the polished tiles of this temple of Mammon, concern that we’d run into the redhead crept up on me. Maybe she’d see us together and assume that I still didn’t know about them, that I was just this unsuspecting idiot girl who really believed she had a good boyfriend.

Appointment I

Appointment I

The psychiatrist lifted a gigantic notepad and, as I spoke, scribbled notes here and there on the blank pages. I told him that I’d tried to off myself. That the man I loved was a womanizer, but things had gotten better. I answered his questions as honestly as I could: Yes, I cry often. No, I don’t go out of the house much. No, I haven’t thought about doing it again. The doctor called me dear and sweetie—I hate it when strange men do that, but I didn’t mention it. I’m polite.

As the appointment went on, I asked the psychiatrist questions that I hadn’t dared ask another person, but he’s a professional, so he can’t disclose any of the nagging worries that I air in his office: “Can I stay with him, even though he’s cheated on me?”

The psychiatrist took a long pause, laced his sausage fingers together under his chin, and said thoughtfully, “Breaches of trust are remarkably common in relationships. There are a number of ways to work through issues like this. You have a choice: Do you want to try to forgive him and stay together? If you don’t believe you can do that, the only option is to end the relationship.”

“But I want to stay together,” I answered, relieved.

At the end of the appointment he wrote a prescription that he wanted me to begin taking immediately.

Ground Zero

Ground Zero

The pills flatten me, make me into a thin scum on the surface of still water. I don’t sink. Coast instead, detached from the world around me, and I’m fine with it. Time is water, and the weeks run like a current beneath me, without me.

Appointment II

Appointment II

The psychiatrist comments that I’m losing weight, asks if my appetite has decreased. I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t really know,” I answer.

That’s a fringe benefit of this medication. I don’t want to eat. I am finally thin.

Desire

Desire