because he doesn’t like leftovers, even if they were cooked that same night. Why do I even try? I guess because it’s the law that I must feed my kids. I am simply trying to be a law abiding citizen and no one appreciates it. So eating my dinner like a lion eats a zebra after a rigorous chase when I have the chance, is no skin off my back.
After I fill myself to a satisfactory level, I look up only to see Rita, the puke counselor staring at me from across the room. Her eyes look as if she is taking great pity on me. I can imagine she’s thinking I’m going to get a second tray and then pray to the porcelain gods. I try to avoid eye contact because I surely don’t want her to come and talk to me. I try and start a conversation with the girls at the table, but it seems they are in their own little worlds. I wonder if I am at a table full of schizophrenics and they all are hearing little voices in their heads. I try again anyway.
“I don’t know about you ladies, but I am full-ull.” I say, sounding kind of like a hillbilly.
Not a one of them says a word. Perhaps they are not schizophrenics. Perhaps I have found the table of mutes.
“Well, my name is Vada. How long have you all been here?” Why the hell do I sound like such a nerd?
The women at the table all stare blankly at each other and then they start laughing, but they won’t look at me. What the hell? What is this, like high school or something? I’m not crazy enough to be in their click? Screw them! They are still laughing. I had no idea there was like “cool” tables here in the nuthouse. I feel embarrassed and stupid and I’d like to kick all of their asses. I want to crawl into a hole. I’ve never been laughed out of a table before and these mentally ill women are laughing at me. I hurry and get up. They are still laughing. I can even hear one of them slapping the table, as I speed walk to the bathroom. I just want to get away. I go in and lock myself in a stall. Tears start falling down my face. What have I done? I miss my kids. I miss Eric. I want to go home. I decide that after I walk out of this stall, I will go and switch my stuff to the other room and get a good night’s sleep. I plan to call Eric in the morning and see what I can do to get out of here.
I regain my composure though my eyes are still red, and I open the stall door. BAM. It’s marga-fucking Rita, standing there, staring at me. I would almost it rather be the cops here to arrest me for possession. Could this get any worse?
“Dear, it takes time.” she says, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “We are all in this together. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I would like to know what you’re feeling.”
I look up in to her eyes through her red glasses. She is actually emotional about this. Here we stand outside the stalls with a lingering aroma of asparagus-scented urine, from what the girls have eaten all night, mixed with a hint of bathroom funk. This moment is awkward and I wish someone would walk in the door and save me. I feel like I want to break her glasses. Just take them off her stubby nose and crack them in two. That’s how I feel. However, I watch my mouth and play the game.
“Oh Rita, I just was so hungry.”
“I know sweetie, I know. So am I, shhh…shhh….so am I.”
And there it is…a hug. I just take it, whether I want it or not, like a new bride with a headache. It’s just something that must be done and we are now hugging are hearts out in the bathroom. She starts swaying me this way and that and I don’t know where to place my feet. I feel like I am at a junior high school dance. Do we circle while we sway? I am so uncomfortable!
“I want you to tell your therapist about this tomorrow in your session, okay Vada? If you need me to be there with you, I will. I...”
“No!” I say way too quickly. I pull back. “It’s just that…I feel like this will be good for me to come clean on my
After I fill myself to a satisfactory level, I look up only to see Rita, the puke counselor staring at me from across the room. Her eyes look as if she is taking great pity on me. I can imagine she’s thinking I’m going to get a second tray and then pray to the porcelain gods. I try to avoid eye contact because I surely don’t want her to come and talk to me. I try and start a conversation with the girls at the table, but it seems they are in their own little worlds. I wonder if I am at a table full of schizophrenics and they all are hearing little voices in their heads. I try again anyway.
“I don’t know about you ladies, but I am full-ull.” I say, sounding kind of like a hillbilly.
Not a one of them says a word. Perhaps they are not schizophrenics. Perhaps I have found the table of mutes.
“Well, my name is Vada. How long have you all been here?” Why the hell do I sound like such a nerd?
The women at the table all stare blankly at each other and then they start laughing, but they won’t look at me. What the hell? What is this, like high school or something? I’m not crazy enough to be in their click? Screw them! They are still laughing. I had no idea there was like “cool” tables here in the nuthouse. I feel embarrassed and stupid and I’d like to kick all of their asses. I want to crawl into a hole. I’ve never been laughed out of a table before and these mentally ill women are laughing at me. I hurry and get up. They are still laughing. I can even hear one of them slapping the table, as I speed walk to the bathroom. I just want to get away. I go in and lock myself in a stall. Tears start falling down my face. What have I done? I miss my kids. I miss Eric. I want to go home. I decide that after I walk out of this stall, I will go and switch my stuff to the other room and get a good night’s sleep. I plan to call Eric in the morning and see what I can do to get out of here.
I regain my composure though my eyes are still red, and I open the stall door. BAM. It’s marga-fucking Rita, standing there, staring at me. I would almost it rather be the cops here to arrest me for possession. Could this get any worse?
“Dear, it takes time.” she says, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “We are all in this together. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I would like to know what you’re feeling.”
I look up in to her eyes through her red glasses. She is actually emotional about this. Here we stand outside the stalls with a lingering aroma of asparagus-scented urine, from what the girls have eaten all night, mixed with a hint of bathroom funk. This moment is awkward and I wish someone would walk in the door and save me. I feel like I want to break her glasses. Just take them off her stubby nose and crack them in two. That’s how I feel. However, I watch my mouth and play the game.
“Oh Rita, I just was so hungry.”
“I know sweetie, I know. So am I, shhh…shhh….so am I.”
And there it is…a hug. I just take it, whether I want it or not, like a new bride with a headache. It’s just something that must be done and we are now hugging are hearts out in the bathroom. She starts swaying me this way and that and I don’t know where to place my feet. I feel like I am at a junior high school dance. Do we circle while we sway? I am so uncomfortable!
“I want you to tell your therapist about this tomorrow in your session, okay Vada? If you need me to be there with you, I will. I...”
“No!” I say way too quickly. I pull back. “It’s just that…I feel like this will be good for me to come clean on my
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