July 31

I did not talk. I could not talk as I sat on the white plastic chair. The therapist repeated the question, and again, instead of a response, all she got from me was a bland dying stare.

"Perer, relax. I want you to relax. I hope the plastic chair is comfortable?"

"Relaxation is not something that I fancy these days. Say what you want to say. I will answer as much as I can answer."

"Alright," the therapist wore her glasses. "Perer, it may interest you to be informed that I have read your file over and over again and I still don't understand what your problem is. You said you are not suicidal but yet you are depressed. Do you care to explain what you mean by that statement? I will give you time to think about my question while I go through your file. I have decided to not charge you because I admire your courage to seek help. It is not common for young people of your age to admit they are suicidal. They see it as a crime!"

I inhaled softly as I climbed into