Until Harry

1

I'm not depressed.

I'm not suicidal.

However my therapist doesn't believe that. And neither does anybody else.

"How are you feeling?" That's the first question Dr. Howard asks as he sits comfortably in his chair. His thinning grey hair is combed neatly into place, and his tie hangs loose around his neck. He looks boring.

It's only my second time being in his office and already I see that it's pointless to be here. Dr. Howard thinks otherwise.

"Fine." I say, because I am.

He labels me as depressed.

I'm not.

"How was your week?" That's the second question he asks.

"Fine." I say again, because it was.

He doesn't believe me, I can tell by the slight crease between his eyebrows.

"What did you do?" He asks his third question.

"Nothing." I say. I did absolutely nothing.

Dr. Howard sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, what does 'nothing' consist of?" He asks his forth question.

Yesterday consisted of the same conversion. Him asking tedious questions and me giving him a tedious answer.

It feels repetitive.

"The definition of nothing: pronoun - not anything, no single thing. Adjective: having no prospect of progress. Adverb: not at all." I say. "Synonyms: zero-"

I cut myself off as he raises his hand. He does that when he wants me to stop talking.

He stares at me quizzically.

"I looked it up." I explain, pulling out my smart phone to further prove my point. He doesn't seem impressed.

"That's not what I meant, Louis." He says and pushes up his glasses as it slips down his nose.

"Please be more specific next time." I say.

Dr. Howard sighs. Two. He's sighed twice so far.

"Specifically, " He says heavily, "What did you do over the week that you call nothing?"

"I stayed at home. I ate. I drank water. I slept for eight hours. I went food shopping." I explain. "Nothing."

"Did you talk with anyone?" He asks his fifth question.

"No," I shake my head.

"Why not? You were supposed to," He opens my folder and scans through it, "have a conversation with three people for at least three minutes."

"Three minutes and twenty-four seconds." I correct him, remembering the conversation from yesterdays session. "I already told you. Having a pointless conversation is useless. I don't want to engage in a conversation when neither parties are genuine."

Dr. Howard asks his sixth question,"What do you mean by genuine? And I'm not asking for the definition."

"I'm not going to talk just for the sake of talking." I say. "Some people ask how you are doing, but they don't really want to know. They just ask to be polite."

"I ask how you are." Dr. Howard points out.

"You have too. It's your job." I reply back.

He scoffs quietly and leans back in his rolling chair, writing down in his note book.

"Yes, I ask because I have too, but I also do want to know." He says, looking at me through his thin wired glasses.

I lean forward in my seat, finger tapping on my thigh, "Dr. Howard, it isn't nice to lie."

He opens his mouth to say something, but he quickly shuts it. He sighs in defeat.

He moves onto his seventh question.

"Are you taking your antidepressants?"

I lean back in by chair and huff, "I'm not depressed."

"Answer the question, Louis." He says sternly.

"No, I'm not taking them because I'm not depressed." I say but I doubt it'll make a difference to him.

"You have to take your medicine. If you don't then you won't feel better." He replies.

"Okay. I'll take them."

I won't. I don't need too, because I'm not depressed.

Dr. Howard glances at his watch on his left wrist.

"Our session is over. Same time tomorrow."

I get up and leave, but just as I'm about to close the door, Dr. Howard calls me.

"Please try and engage in a conversation. At least once."