The Broadway Actress

“Miss Lana, before we begin, tell me a little about yourself. Then we’ll do the evaluation,” I hated her. I hated them all. They were all the same, but I needed to continue putting food on the table for myself.

            “You know my name and have my recent medical files. Isn’t that enough?” I rudely questioned.

            “Well, I like to get to know my patients, to understand them more. Do you get what I’m saying?”

            “No. I don’t feel comfortable sharing my personal information with a stranger. I just came to be examined and given more medicine.” Cold; I was so cold. My tone came off as almost demanding. Although I was younger than the therapist, she seemed intimated by me. I guess living on the streets give you this tough vibe or something.

            “Really? Are you sure?”

            “Positive.”
“Well, then let‘s get down to business. What exactly would you say are the issues, or problems, you have?”

"Sometimes, I see things." I flatly stated. There was a purpose to every characteristic and…well, just everything I did while in the room was for a reason. I glanced to the wall to see her college degree in Psychology; the date showed she only graduated two years ago. For being so new to the job, she came off as very professional, but relaxed at the same time. I almost admired her for that, but I can’t get too attached. Her office was a respectable size, and the walls were painted blue; I know for a fact that blue is a calming color, and often saw it in the various hospitals and private businesses I've been to. There were also a few candles burning, which wasn't such a smart idea, because you never know which of your patients would have pyromania. The part of her office I loved the most, was the ceiling to floor, wall to wall window that was positioned behind her desk. It gave the most beautiful view of the edge of the busy city, turning into the beach and finally the splashing waves of the Atlantic.

“Hmm…” She hummed, pondering my statement, “Like hallucinations? Does this only happen at night or during the day, or both?”
            “Depends.”
            “What exactly do you see?”

“Well…” I had to think so I let the response drift off. I made my eyes look big, the way a deer looks into the blinding headlights, at the same time breathing steadily and deeply. Everything was somewhat rehearsed and I was so God damn jittery. Which was good; it added to the illusion. Three, two, one, I counted in my head. At once I began to shake my hand, mimicking anxiety. Still looking off into the distance, in my peripheral vision I intensely watched the therapist jot down notes. God, I was getting so good at this sometimes I actually started to believe I really was crazy. Can't let that thought get to my head.

"Miss...Miss Lana, please continue your thought, you have a limited amount of time in here and we must make the best of it." She spoke, breaking the silence, quietly at first, then with more of an edge, as if to get my attention. This time, I counted to ten, while studying the woman’s face. She was young, and just getting out of college, made her such easy bait. Regardless of trying to scam her, she was actually kind of pretty, the way her long, black hair contrasted against her almost snow colored skin, and how she lined her ice blue eyes with a thick black. In fact, she was the utter and complete opposite of me. She was well dressed and looked as if she belonged modeling in a magazine. Then there was me: Dirt smeared on my stained clothes; hair unbrushed; and eyes the color of mud.

The doctor, whose name I couldn't remember, seemed to almost not want to believe me, practically shaking her head in disbelief. I was taking an awful long time to respond, but I had yet to come up with an answer. She looked at me, maybe even studying me the same way I was studying her. Like I mentioned before, I was no prize.