The Office

Every other week I sit here. Waiting around for the man with the clipboard. There are fliers littering the walls with pictures of sad teenagers. The florescent lighting makes it all the more dingy.

“Do you have a depressed teen in your life?”

“Bipolar family members?”

“Is anxiety impacting your life?”

These all have the same help-line numbers that are tear-away at the bottom. This whole hallway is reminiscent of something tear-away; something society wishes it could rip off the bottom. The rows of chairs that I can only assume the sad teens in the picture are to occupy, practically blend into their surroundings.

I’d rather stare down at my phone and pretend none of these apply to me. Ripped jeans, a plaid top around my waist and in a tank top…I guess I fit the profile. With my newly deep purple hair and fresh piercings (done in the twilight of my bedroom), I suppose that this is where I belong. My mom thinks so too, or I wouldn’t be within 500m of here.

The beige walls and pillow less chairs are causing me extreme pain but I’m not sure whether it’s internal or external.

“What are you here for?” asked the girl next to me. She had short choppy black hair, fishnet stockings and booty shorts, and a crop top with a skull on it.

“Are we in jail now?”

“Basically.”

That gives me something to mull over. We aren’t allowed to leave, the windows are barred, padded room, none of us are here by choice, waiting to be released for good behaviour.

Finally the dreaded words escaped my mouth to answer her question. I can see the thin pale lines on her arms, I don’t need to ask. I think this place is making it worse, here everyone’s eyes are turned down, and heads are kept down, hushed voices bounce off the walls but almost everyone has headphones on, probably listening to something to perpetuate the mood.

My knee is causing an earthquake, I can feel my face go bright red but my new companion doesn’t seem to care, she’s back in her own world.

A lady with a bun that must be have given her a headache and an outfit to match the walls came clomping down the hall, “Dr. Stein’s OD case?” the girl got up and followed her out.

Now I can cause my earthquake in peace until my number is called too. Are we every getting out? I can feel my eyes begin to burn with the thought and my vision blurred by the probably.