Hi FPS long time no see I've been off in suicidal and unhappy lalaland for a while.

Today's tale comes to you from my most recent adventure out into public: the great journey to therapy. What kind of therapy you may ask? The talk kind where I downplay everything that's wrong with me and pretend that I'm okay when I'm clearly not.

I go to therapy because I'm depressed, because I'm so anxious that I can't even call my family on the phone without wanting to puke, because I can't even go out in my own yard without freaking out sometimes. But I'm always “Fine.” when the therapist asks.

But, I had gotten to my therapist's office by some stroke of luck. I was sitting in one of those (quite frankly, too firm) chairs that every waiting room seems to have by the magazine rack. I was listening to music (both earbuds in), reading a book (Animal Farm), and just trying not to throw up on everyone in the room and everything they loved, and in walks... this lady.

She was like a mound of jello. At first I paid her no mind because whatever man everyone's in therapy for their own reason and I can't afford to judge. I just zoned out while listening to Glass Animals, and thinking of happier things... until she opens her mouth.

”HI YES IM HERE FOR MY APPOINTMENT WITH DR. THERAPISTPERSON IN TEN MINUTES.”

I heard that over my tunes? I was by no means blasting my music so loud anyone could hear it, it was just loud enough to cover the din of a waiting room. Maybe she's just loud, we'll give her the benefit of the doubt-

”WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO TAKE ME?”

I pulled out my left earbud and closed my book just because I wanted to be an eavesdropping piece of shit.

poor receptionist: “Ma'am we suggest you arrive at least fifteen minutes early purely because of these kinds of things and I'm sorry but your spot went to someone else who was on a list for c-”

ham lady: “[something unintelligible] well I'm just going to SIT and you'll have to take me eventually.”

ok that's not how that works but whatever. She turned and started wobbling towards the chairs, and as she walked in front of me I saw what I had missed. You see, the waiting room isn't one open room- there's a small wall that has a magazine rack stuck on it, and I was situated in the corner directly underneath it. I could see the right side of this lady, but not her left.

She barely managed to squeeze past the little wall, and in her left hand she clutched a grease-spotted bag of some kind of fast food. One, that's nasty, and two that's not even marginally appropriate. I understand bringing a cup of coffee with you at most, not a meal.

So I figure that she's just gonna go sit down and eat. No. My literal nightmare is just beginning.

”You're in my seat.”

I look up, my blood going cold.

It took me two whole years to become comfortable with going to these appointments alone and not making my mother come in with me to wait. There's only one receptionist that I feel comfortable speaking with. I never look at the other people in the room when I wait. I stare at the floor or read.

She's standing in front of me, greasy bag of food in one hand and an enormous purse in the other. I can say proudly that her clothing wasn't entirely inappropriate (thank god), just way too tight. I wondered if she knew that there was a Sportsman's Warehouse nearby that sold really good quality tents that she could wear (god I wish I was that sharp in the moment and not days later).

me: “... yes?”

ham lady: “You. Are in. My seat. Move.”

me, internally: “oh I'm sorry ma'am but this isn't really anybody's seat and I was sitting here first!”

me, externally: “I'mmm s-s-SSSssSssss-”

ham lady: “Get up and give me my seat.”

mfw

She leans in closer to me, and I can finally smell the food in her hands. Smelled like grease, salt, and broken teenage dreams. I'm about to turkey vulture her with everything I've eaten for the last 84 years.

The woman sitting two seats to my right was either noticing that I was about to freak or she just got tired of it.

nice woman: “Y'know there are plenty of other seats, just go sit somewhere else.”

ham lady: “this isn't even any of your business you old cunt, mind your business.”

Swearing in a waiting room? Don't do that.

ham lady: “I ALWAYS sit here. This is MY CHAIR. I always have my appointment at 11:30 AND SIT HERE.”

the nice woman's fw

in my right ear I can hear the lovely tones of Soft Cell's 'Tainted Love'

'Sometimes I feel I've got to run away, I've got to, get away...'

i try to sputter out some kind of apology or offer to move but it's just not happening. I sound like a sputtering engine that won't start.

out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar neon pink jacket

could it be? My savior?

she approaches quickly, walking out from behind the receptionist's desk like an angel sent to save me

”Edgemeister?”

i stand up so fast my legs spontaneously catch fire and my shoes leave a burnout in front of the chair

and onward I went to therapy, where I proceeded to lie to my therapist's face and pretended to be fine today.

TL;DR: I go to therapy. I sit and wait, fat woman with fast food shows up and yells at me for sitting in a chair that she wanted. Therapist saves the day.

I've seen the same fat woman a few times now, she doesn't make any effort to interact with me. Just nasty looks and sideways glances. I don't pay any attention to her because I have better things to do.

I doubt anybody will be worried, but right now I'm okay. Not the best, but I'm breathing and conscious so that's that. Started new medication, but I don't put any stock in it (Lexapro, if you're curious. I chose to try it because I've had horrible luck with medication side effects so far, and this one seems fairly mild). The cuts on my arm are healing, I'm starting to feel... as normal as I can be, I guess.

Thanks for reading. Also, there's more Nana the Ham stuff coming I promise, I'm just... not having an easy time writing lately even though it's my hobby. Y'know?