Manic Depression
I tried to ignore the large sign. It was black with bold white letters that said ?Family Mental Health Services.? I took my anxiety out on the door and pushed past it with unnecessary force. I walked to the front desk and was greeted by a secretary whose smile seemed to know my discomfort all too well.
?Good morning,? I muttered under my breath, trying not to look her directly in the eyes. I felt she would look into me and formulate a diagnosis even before I spoke. I smiled weakly and sat down in an uncomfortable waiting room chair, trying to avoid her as much as the small room would allow. My stomach clenched as I sat down in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. I looked around me at the others, waiting. The number of children there surprised me. I looked them over, one by one, and found myself attempting to name their dysfunctions, just as I thought the secretary would. I wondered if she made a guessing game out of it. After all, she had the ability to check the files to see if she was correct.
?Do I really need to be here? I asked myself, almost
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