Depression
I visited my psychiatrist today
and in an office with no evident emotion
no obvious soul beyond a Gettys image
in a painfully drab frame
screwed firmly into a pale green wall
that matched the colour
of his uninspired suit
he told me
that people like me
infuriate him,
he said that six months earlier
he had been told that he
only had mere months to live
and that he had been clutching, snatching,
grasping onto every second that he had left.
His light brown skin creased and
cracked as he told me this,
frail grey hair fell onto the lines of his forehead
and I said nothing
aware of my body swallowing itself in shame,
‘So to see a person,’ he said
‘as young as you, so willing to just throw a life away
infuriates me.’
and I nodded my head in acknowledgement
picked myself up and left
sure that as I did so
he stamped ‘case closed’ on my file, another cured,
but I can’t say that what he told me
made me feel
any less depressed.
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