Trapped in my own Mind

• Satire
• Short story
• Fiction

								
	I take this moment to relax into the cool soft leather beneath me. I feel like I haven’t had a moment to myself in decades. In reality, I’m always alone, never with company. I like to think my own mind fills the need one usually has for human interactions. My thoughts are less complex than a regular conversation. I am irrational and impulsive; my mother tells me those are bad qualities to have, but I think they make me the person I am-an irrational and impulsive girl. I rest my head back against the upholstery and wait for my name to be called. 
	I am never this relaxed. I am on a lot of pain medications. More than my last visit to the hospital. I configure my brain to fiddle with the thought of getting up and waking out. Dr. Bronson only sees me because of my last visit to the hospital. I don’t think he cares; but really if I’m being honest, I don’t care either. Lucky for me, Dr. Bronson has a file to remember me by, describing my bad mental qualities and what he likes to call “extreme paranoia” but I do not have a file for him. Instead, I remember him by his large nose that covers his entire mouth and his hair that seems to forget where it needs to be and where it should not be.
	I decide the best thing for me right now is, in fact, not Dr. Bronson. It is to get up and walk out to the car where my mother is waiting for me, probably reading some book on how to better deal with children with mental illness. She worries about me a lot; but I don’t see why. I am not a danger towards myself or others. My problems are well-contained inside of my own mind. I start to stand up, steadying myself on the floor when I hear the dreaded door open. Dr. Bronson walks out, and his eyes wonder over the scene in front of him. He gives me a slight head tilt and access my footsteps aimed towards the door. I believe right now all he can see is a girl who has been in and out of the hospital for years, trying to escape what he thinks is helpful care. 
	“Is this a bad time?” he asks, but he is not looking for an answer. What he is really saying is “Uhm, what are you doing? You clearly need help, and I don’t understand why you don’t want it!” I try to find my voice, to say “Hey man you are basically my worst nightmare, and I see people who aren’t actually there.” 
I settle for “No sir, now is a great time.” In a calm tone. He gives me a strained smile and motions for me to follow him into his office. 
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