naked

06/01/2018

“Flirting with madness was one thing; when madness started flirting back, it was time to call the whole thing off”

The pins and needles from my shoulder blade to my fingertips, the numbness in my feet, persisted making it that much harder to fall asleep. I didn’t feel guilt or bewilderment over my behavior in regard to Celeste’s privacy. It became a daily ritual, obsession rather. I was addicted to the adrenal rush of uncovering secrets. I often found myself fantasizing and hoping I would find something she was hiding, sexually motivated. Should I feel ashamed? I guess that is what’s concerning.

If I did have a friend, I would confess to them that I had been snooping around her emails, her phone, reading her journal and her backpack… I would confide in my friend about the sexless marriage and how un-satisfying it was and continued to be. Yes, an open marriage would be acceptable.

I confidently walk up to the receptionist class window. “I’m here to see Shelly.” I proclaim. The receptionist doesn’t smile nor does she look up at me. She shoved a clipboard in my direction. “Fill out the paper. Wait.”

I breezed through the new patient forms. The health history was minimal and simple. No Medications. No Allergies. Illness? Surgeries? Nope, oh wait.. I paused talking to myself in a low whisper. My tonsils and adenoids were removed, yes. I was delighted to write down in the large empty text box, I loved filling out forms. Well, should I mention 5 years ago I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes after gaining over 55 pounds? I was never prescribed any medication, rather the doctor told me to exercise. I jotted it down anyway. I returned the forms to the receptionist. She didn’t slide the window open. She watched me as I stood there, clipboard in hand, the phone was fastened to her ear.

I strolled back to my chair in the corner of the small waiting room. I fixed my gaze on the strangest yet most colorful of all paintings. A distorted abstract outline of a woman, naked. A black outline and bright patches of purples, blues and yellows. Her eyes weren’t smiling, a deranged look… I was getting the feeling that was the theme of the Mental Health Clinic, and sort of an odd picture for such a place. Were they mocking us? This painting would stick in my mind materializing again for several months, quite unsettling. I never really could figure out why.