Shattered

I was finally checked in to the mental health walk-in clinic. I sat in the corner, wary of all the couples present due to my social anxiety. I knew it would be a while. So I decided to check Facebook. I was reading about at a high school friend's overseas adventures when the trouble began.

The patient waiting at the counter seemed like a nice enough person. Nice clothes, hair done neatly, a red plaid wrap around her shoulders. She pointed to the receptionist and said, 'F*** you," in the calmest manner. She then smashed the nearby planter up against the wall, swept everything off the receptionist's desk, and attempted to further damage the wall (and perhaps the receptionist) with a decorative metal bird of some sort. When the gentleman behind her thwarted her from her attempt to inflict more destruction, she walked out. But as she did she smashed the glass of the front door and it shattered. Other witnesses said that the first explosion of glass sounded like a gunshot. I don't know whether she broke the door with her boot or if she had picked up another object, as my view was obstructed by a nearby wall.

The door continued to shatter throughout the evening, dropping pieces of glass at random times.

Oh, this adventure did nothing for my anxiety. I shook for hours after leaving the clinic.

But on the bright side, I got my prescription, after answering some awkward questions. About the wonderful show I was treated to in the waiting room. About the separation, About my old doctor's inability to help me and my new doctor's refusal to see me before November 30th. About my fun trip to the hospital that one time. About any manic symptoms such as overspending and hyper-sexuality.

I was on the verge of tears throughout the conversation. The physician's assistant concluded that, all things considered, I seemed a bit depressed.

The side door was locked when my appointment concluded. I exited with a few employees out the front, gingerly stepping over pieces of glass.