I was headed to my first therapy appointment. Nervous and anxious, but also a little excited. Maybe soon I’ll figure myself out.
I wandered through this strange building, unchanged since the 1980s, with a weird silence that filled the walls and narrow hallways, which were dimly lit by fluorescent light.
I didn’t dare take the elevator, in a building as strange as this.
Only three floors up.
The stairs were fine.
The building smelled old. No one else was around.
The door was so nondescript I nearly missed it. Just a brown door against a brown wall. I went inside.
Filled out paper work, then sat and waited.
The fluorescent lights continued to hum and flicker above me, but the tiny waiting room was otherwise silent. I was the only one in there. Through the walls I heard faint conversations.
This place is supposed to help people feel better, but the atmosphere does the opposite.
Except for me. I like strange places like this, that feel like an altered reality. My nervousness disappeared and I quickly wrote down my thoughts.
My inspiration was coming back.
After being missing for so long. This was a feeling I’d almost forgotten about. Maybe its return had something to do with 200 mg of Zoloft I had just been increased to the day before.
I’ve always wanted to capture certain strange feelings, and atmospheres. I can take the photographs, but have never been able to put it into words. Something is blocking it.
But maybe now the block is falling away.
I want to record my life, not just the good parts, but all the parts. I love sharing pictures, but I don’t just want to dump a bunch of pretty pictures on a page with generic predictable words.
I want to capture what that day was like.
I feel like I’m finally starting to wake up, after being away for a long time, and I am excited to see what happens next.