There wasn’t any use in pretending to look comfortable. I tried to wipe the sweat off my face and straighten up, but I could tell that my efforts to appear normal were the exact thing that was making me look so crazy.

“Describe your depression to me. Also, try to put it into a timeline,” Dr. Wright said. “You know, provide context that places it into a certain point in your life.”

I took a second to form my words carefully. “I guess I started feeling different after I lost my job,” I said. I stop, knowing what she was going to ask next.

“What did you do?”

“I was an in-house accountant for Pace Financial. I handled the company’s internal management of finances. I was basically an accountant for other accountants.”

“Did you like your job?”

I stopped and thought about how to answer. “Not particularly. But I mean, who likes their job?” I try to force out a laugh. Dr. Wright simply jotted down more things in her notebook.

“Is it possible that your issues started sometime before you were let go from your job?”

Before I can respond, she stops me. “Before you answer that, let me just say,” she scooted in closer to the edge of her chair. “A lot of times in life, we’re forced to self-censor, meaning we either say things we don’t mean to avoid criticism, or we change our language to be less direct. This is not one of those times. In here, you will do yourself a disservice by censoring any of your feelings. You need to be 100 percent honest.” Her tone was much more serious than it had been up until this point.

I straightened up in my chair for some reason before I started speaking again.

“I’ve been losing a lot of sleep over stress,” I said, trying to make it sound reasonable. “I haven’t had any luck finding a new job recently, so I’m just in a transitional…” I do some gesticulating with my hands to try to describe my near homelessness, “you know… period.”

“Ok, here’s what I need you to do,” Dr. Wright closed her notebook and stood up. “Go home; think about it.”

I stand up, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s for the best.” She smiled again, but it was a closing smile. “I will not charge your brother for this session if you come back at a later date with a better understanding of your condition.”

She extended a hand and I shook it. Next thing I knew, I was outside.

A part of me actually thought that I was so beyond help that even therapists wouldn’t waste their time with me. What if Dr. Wright could tell I was already too far gone?

I didn’t know if that was even a real thing, but it didn’t seem likely that they’d turn someone away who was too insane to treat. At least that’s what the rational side of my mind tried to sell me. 

I didn’t know what to make of the Wright Treatment Clinic, and I certainly didn’t know what to do with my peculiar observations about Dr. Wright.

In the end, I decided to meet with Michael and tell him about Dr. Wright’s new arrangement and then go back for more answers.