All the Same to Me

Tuesday at Noon

Daniel's POV

Somehow, I got out the apartment without metaphorically losing my shit. That alone was a huge achievement. It's been since Thursday when I last saw Liza, and I miss her. I don't blame her for not coming around, though.

Dr. Arnoldson calls me back into his office and he's as I remember. Portly, balding on top, and he has a nose like a hawk. Overall, I guess he's an okay shrink. He was the same guy who suggested to get my own place with all that's going on, and that didn't do me any good. But he is the one with the degrees, so I guess he's the best source of help I have. 

I take a seat in the leather chair across from his own leather chair. He smiles at me, which is perplexing because aren't you not supposed to want to see your patients? That means they're doing bad again, like myself. Except, it's not again, I was just in denial until an amazing girl told me I was on my way to death. "How have you been, Daniel?" he asks.

"Fine." Don't know why I said that, considering I am here. 

"Then why are you here?"

"If you know how bad I am, then why'd you ask?" I don't mean to be an asshole, but him asking how I am is as pathetic as me saying I'm fine. We all know that this is happening because things aren't going okay.

He nods. "Point taken. What's wrong?"

I sigh. "Everything." Then, I sum up all my issues with the depression, anxiety, my fear of leaving the house, my hate for people and music (though I can't get away from it. The music, I mean), the loss of control that I have, and how food deprivation helps me with my control issues. The whole time he nods and jots down notes on a clipboard that's propped on the leg he has swung over his other. The questions are limited because it's not often I go on a spiel like this. I just want to get it all out on the table, except for the Liza thing; I'll keep that to myself. When I'm done, I take a breath of air (I'm not used to talking that much) and say, "Sorry. That was a lot."

"No, that was good. The more you tell me, the more I can help you."

"So what's wrong with me?" I ask.

He looks down at the clipboard and says, "I'm guessing you've been skipping your meds."

I scratch my face and glance down at the ground. When I first saw Dr. Arnoldson, he gave me these antidepressants, but I didn't like how they made me feel. They took my feelings away; everything was the same, and I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all. So after the first supply of them, I never got my prescription refilled. "I never got to get them refilled, with the whole isolation issue."

He jots down more things on his clipboard, which makes me wonder what it says. Probably something along the lines of me being the most fucked up teenager he knows and that I'm beyond help. Again, I ask, "What's wrong with me?"

He places the clipboard on the table behind him and tells me, "Well, in addition to being depressed and anxious, you seem to be anorexic. But your case is different than most." I swallow down the lump that just formed in my throat, and he continues talking. "For one, most anorexic patients are female. Also most cases are brought on by vanity insecurities, whereas yours is for a sense of control. Correct?"

"Yeah. I mean, I was never insecure with myself to a point where I'd starve to look good." Of course, I've had moments where I feel lousy about my appearance (many people do), but it was never to that level.