The Doctor’s Waiting Room

A piece I found when clearing out. I wrote it as a teen so please forgive any mistakes.


I am sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, waiting to be told what I already know. What has led me here has spanned the course of my teenage years. A series of blackened events each exactly like the one before has led me to this place.

This morning after waking up for the fourth time, I finally forced myself out of bed. I felt nauseous at the prospect of another day. Here I am, seventeen years old, a time of life when most kids race to greet the dawn, and yet I try my best to sleep the time away.

Slowly I move towards the mirror. Each step is a deliberate effort, although my body is young and healthy. As I reach my destination, I stare into my reflection – what I see disturbs me. I don’t see that young girl with potential who my parents say I am; rather, I see ugliness and imperfection. I wonder what I did to deserve this face which causes me so much pain. I’m not deformed by nature’s standards. I have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, yet it must be this face which causes others to reject me.

Other girls my age are surrounded by friends and laughter. I walk alone through the corridors of my school wishing I could be them. Wishing I could be anyone but me. What secret do these other girls share that I’ll never understand? It’s tough to be an outsider watching life as others live it, and I wonder when it is going to be my turn.

Most days sleeping seems a less painful way to spend the hours than living. My dreams are my only escape. If I could I’d love to slip into the shoes of one of those my age who smilingly surround me. What does it feel like to laugh out loud or unconsciously smile your way through a day?

I believe in reincarnation because I must have done something terribly wrong to deserve this punishment. I am unworthy of the happy times that others get to be a part of so effortlessly.

I worry that life will never be any different for me. I’m frightened to the point that I sometimes wonder what the point is. But at lest if I can just hold it together and keep a smile on my face then my little brother could be happy. My family will think I’m fine and normal, but I will still know I’m not. I will still feel this awful pain inside me. I will still cry inside and cry myself to sleep each night.

I feel alone, separated from everyone around me. I feel different, alone in my own world. And when I step outside my world it always ends in pain. A simple two-minute conversation with a peer gets twisted endlessly throughout the day, throughout the weeks. Why didn’t I say this or that? Why did I say this or that? If only I could have done it or said it differently. Regret, frustration, confusion, loneliness, this is my routine. It’s not friends I see as I enter the school canteen; rather, I see an endless sea of enemies. They do not understand me. I do not understand me.

All of this led to my visit with the doctor. And now I am sitting in the waiting room, my mum sitting next to me nervously tapping her foot on the floor. And now I feel guilt for the pain I am causing my family. I don’t mean to, and I don’t know how to ease the pain.

The doctor and I speak for what seems like an hour but is probably more like half that. My mum waits uneasily out in the waiting room. I tried to form a feeble smile as the door closed between us so that she wouldn’t worry about me. I guess it’s too late for that.

The doctor listened to me speak while closing his eyes and nodding his head slowly in a rhythmic fashion. I wondered if he really heard my words or if I was just another number of his appointments he had to get through today. When he’s heard enough, he opened his eyes and began to speak.

He told me that he believes I am suffering from depression and I rolled my eyes at his brilliant deduction. He then went on to explain that it is not my fault and in my head I wonder how he knows that I believe it is all my fault. I wonder if he thinks I’m crazy, and I wonder if anyone else is suffering in silence like me.

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