You’re fumbling around in the dark, and you can’t find your way out of this place. This place that feels like it’s pulling you back, and keeping you from the rest of the world. No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the dark. You can’t wish it away, and you can’t work it away. It is there, like the air around you. There is no escape.
Your stomach asks for a real meal, but you are seemingly glued to the couch. You even made the effort and bought provisions for sweet potato soup: sweet potatoes, coconut milk, ginger, lime, and coriander. You grabbed fresh bread at the bakery, and, in a moment of planning for any scenario, you grabbed a container of ready-to-heat poblano corn chowder soup just in case you can’t make the sweet potato soup.
But, no, you walk in, and have no energy. You succumb to the couch, against your desire, but there you are. You want that soup and that bread. Alas, you bought some sweet and salty popcorn, and you manage to pull that out in order to eat something. Pathetically, it wasn’t hard since the shopping bag is right by the couch, the place it landed when you fell into the couch upon arrival home.
The phone rings and it’s Doc. He asks if you can make it to Monday. You just cry. He gives up his Sunday morning to see you tomorrow at 10 am in his office. He suggests a session of neurofeedback, and you agree. You don’t tell him that you were looking up some of the better psychiatric hospitals on the east coast, but, somehow, you know he knows that it’s not good.