Pretty Pills: Chapter 5

The door to hell is covered in crackled, spidery glass, & reads "Dr. Eugene Q. Gunnkell--Psychiatrist" in thick black print.

& "Purgatory", I'm convinced, vastly resembles the DMV. Everything in the "patient lounge", a very nice way of describing this drab room where you wait to be labeled, is fucking brown. Or beige. Or brown & beige. Gotta commend the interior decorator for her variety. The wallpaper features beige stripes that start to blur together if you stare at them too long. The sofa & chairs are throwbacks from the seventies....thick plush brown upholstery, with bent chrome arms. Even the art on the walls is drab...muted stills featuring vases with flowers that appear dead or dying, painted in sepia watercolors by some very uninspired artist. Perhaps he was dying too. That would explain a lot.

The "gatekeeper" is an overweight, middle-aged man who chews on his mustache when he's supposed to be "listening". He's probably been bald since the seventies, & wears a brown tie. "Doctor" Gunnkell--& I use this term very loosely--didn't listen to ME at all.

He DID, however, listen to my Mother quite a bit; then again, she is the one who signs the check, so why SHOULD he listen to ME at all? My Mother thinks he's "just wonderful".

-"Zoe. Hmmm." He's twisting that fucking mustache again. I slouch as low as I possible can in the squishy chair, without falling on my ass on the floor. He's sent my Mother away, so we can chat privately.

It's a total facade. He just wants that damn check.

-"Your Mother tells me you've been very depressed lately. She also says that you've been living in an imaginary world...& That you've been having difficulties making friends. Care to elaborate?"

-"Did she also tell you that she thinks I'm in a cult because the neighborhood gossip told her so?"

-"She mentioned something like that. But I want to hear your thoughts."

-"I think my Mother is the one who should be sitting in this chair. How's that?"

-" Here's what I think Zoe. I think you're a very ...imaginative girl, with a lot of internal issues. I think you feel ...different, than everyone else, so you lash out at a world that would otherwise embrace you with sarcasm & cynicism. These, delusions, your Mother speaks of...communicating with animals? You just want to be accepted. I can help you achieve that goal."

-"Well, 20 minutes & you've got me all figured out, huh Doc? That's pretty impressive."

-"I'm going to give you something that'll help you to relax. Should ease some of this depression & anxiety you're suffering from. It'll help you to embrace the world around you. It's okay Zoe. Everyone just wants to fit in."

He buzzes the receptionist to send my Mother back in.

-"Okay Mrs. Featherstone. Our time is up for today, but I want you to bring her back to see me next week, at the same time, alright? You were so right in calling me."

He pulls out his prescription pad. Is that all these guys are good for? Prescriptions & referals to see more of their kind? What bullshit!

-"I want to try her on Zoloft & see if this remedies any of her symptoms."

My Mother looks at the Doc with wide, serious eyes. There is such relief behind them; the good doctor agrees with her. Her daughter is broken, & better yet, there's a pill to fix it!

-"Get this filled right away. She'll take them twice a day, morning & night. If there are any complications or negative reactions, call me immediately. We'll change the dose, or the medication. But whatever you do--don't just abruptly stop these once they're in her system. That could be dangerous."

My Mother nods.

_"I'm also giving you a script for some Clonazapam. Give her one of these whenever she has an episode."

-"I cannot fucking believe this! I'm a little bit different--so you're gonna dope me up?! Un-fucking-believable!"

-"Zoe. Watch your tongue!" My Mother snaps at me. "Thank you so much, Doctor.'

-"Thank you Mrs. Featherstone. Zoe. See my receptionist on the way out to schedule another appointment."

This is beyond absurd. My Mother pushes me out the door.

We stop at the pharmacy on the way home to fill those life saving prescriptions post haste. I'm barely through the door once we get home, before my Mother is shoving those little blue pills down my throat.

My Mother sets the little orange plastic bottles on my bookshelf.

-"Honey, now you heard what the Doctor said. You'll tell us immediately if anything is wrong, alright? Just follow the directions on the bottle okay?"

-"There are so many things wrong here, I don't even know where to start." I mutter sourly.

-"Alright. G'night Dear." She flashes that plastic smile at me again, & shuts the door behind her, leaving me blissfully alone in my room.

I shuffle through the cds strewn about the floor, & decide on "Bad Religion". I turn the dial up. LOUD. My Mother never returns.

"There's people out there that say I'm no good,
'Cause I don't believe the things that I should,
And when the final conflict comes, I'll be so sorry I did wrong,
And hope and pray that our lord god will think I'm good...."

I bounce my head 'til the dizziness becomes overwhelming.

"FUCK ARMAGEDDON--THIS IS HELL! FUCK ARMAGEDDON --THIS IS HELL!"

I'm feeling sort of...drunk. Woozy. My head feels like it's wrapped in a blanket. Must be the drugs.

I snatch the little pill bottles off the bookshelf, where my Mother had left them. I contemplate tossing them out the window, but know my Mother will be looking for them in the morning. In the end, I dump them out on the thick black carpeting, swirling the little pink & blue pills around with my fingers. I absentmindedly start spelling out words.

HELP ME.

SAVE ME.

NOT ME.

I try to shake the fog out of my head. I don't like this.

I open my window, & slide outside into the night, my feet not as sure as usual. I slip into my spot, & lean my head back to look at the stars. the night sky is comforting, even if all the stars start to blur & streak together.

-"GRISELDA!" I shout in my head. I haven't heard her chattering since I got home. I almost always feel her presence in my mind. But I don't right now.

This frightens me. In fact, I can't hear ANYTHING right now. Not the Thompson's cat next door, Simon, although I can see him picking through their trash cans. Not the yippy poodle across the street, although I hear her barking. Not even a fucking squirrel.

OH NO. NO- NO -NO- NO -NO!

-"GRISELDA!"

She doesn't answer me. I fall asleep under the stars.