The things nightmares are made of
“So I suppose the next question to be asked is what can I do to help you Esmee?” Doctor Carter smiled pulling him self off of the examination table going over to his desk again before flipping through some of my past history on the computer and scribbling some stuff down on a note pad beside him that was advertising some brand of tablet.
“Well I was kind of hoping you could tell me, I would of done it by now if I new what to do to make it better; to make it the same as it was before.”
“So what has changed Esmee? What do you think is different? You said you wanted to feel like you used to, so in what way would things have to alter?”
“You know the answer to that too, you know as well as me what depression does to an individual it makes the whole world seem like it has had a coat of gray paint, there is no life and no colour in anything even the things that used to make you feel the most content, the most speachel, the most alive.”
“I am assuming things are not bad enough for me to mention Elm grove just yet?” Doctor Carter asked putting his pen on to his desk and turning his attention to me just as my face drained of all colour and my hands began to shake. I wouldn’t go back there again; I couldn’t I still had nightmares about that place.
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