Motives of the Ulterior Kind

“And…?”

I had frozen into the distance, eyes focused on the little statue of Jesus in the corner of the office. I wasn’t really looking at the statue, I was looking into the infinite distance that formed the horizon beyond it, lost in thought. I had trailed off.

“And..?”, Dr. Geeta repeated, “Maya, what happened?”

I looked up at the statue, wondering what God would have to say about my unique mess.

God doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Besides, if a God did exist she’d definitely be a woman and I’m sure she’d definitely have bigger fish to fry than dealing with my warped sense of reality. Why does Dr. Geeta have that statue even? Did I mention I don’t believe in God? Right, that.

I re-focused. Tried to remember what I was telling her.

Oh yes.

“Turns out I’m not pregnant.”, I said, with a triumphant smile on my face. “Apparently last time I was here, I was really over thinking all this.”

“Hmmmm. That’s good. So…”, she scribbled on her little notepad in what I imagined to be the most cliched manner possible, “Tell me about the nightmares. You’d mentioned nightmares on the phone?”, Dr. Geeta, asked completely changing the subject

Ugh.

Revulsion was stirring inside me, overtaking my painstakingly and lovingly nurtured self-loathing. I didn’t want to talk about my nightmares. She always made me talk about things I didn’t want to. I was content talking about life’s problems and what not , marinating deeply in the sauces so carefully concocted by my various troubles and issues — why did she have to leave those behind and make me think about things I didn’t want to.

“Did I tell you I had this thought that I could possibly be a serial killer if I wanted to? I mean I’ve considered it. I’ve planned the deaths of so many people, some so meticulously, so remorselessly you’d be surprised…”

“Yes. We’ll get to that. But first, let’s talk about your nightmares”, she snapped, without so much as breaking eye-contact with me

Damn it. A failed attempt. I’m going to have to think of something better.

“The nightmaressss…..yessssss….Those scaryyy dreamsssss…..”, I drawled to oppose her snappy tone.

“Maya, please focus. Tell me about your nightmares. That’s what I want to know about. Tell me.”, Dr.Geeta insisted.

She. Is. Good! I have to do something else. What if I make up something, a whole world of nightmares, like a dark Alice in Wonderland? Complete with my own smiling evil cats and Jabberwocky.

“Alright, I guess. The nightmares stopped for a while in between, I guess. Things were starting to feel sort of normal. Even the medicines were helping. I was really enjoying the sleep. You know I hadn’t slept in months. I just needed to sleep, and I was sleeping. Until I came and told you that I missed dreaming.”, I confessed

Hmph. She won’t buy it. She’s too smart for that. Hmph, Drmph! Drmph. Wait, wasn’t that Trump’s real name? Or something like that? Wonder what else rhymes with Hmph!

“I missed dreaming. Sleeping in emptiness was sheer torture. Not being able to dream, feeling instead the black void of the space where dreams used to be, to know what is possible; to see in colour and then to be blind. I couldn’t live like that. I told you that and you changed my medication. You promised I’d be dreaming again”, my voice went cold.

Hmph. Drmph? Plumph? No. Gallumph? Gallumph!? Is Gallumph even a real word?

“I did everything. I meditated. I practiced my breathing exercises. I counted. I did my therapy. I even let go of all the small things bothering me. It wasn’t any of that. I’d go to sleep, and they would start — the nightmares”, I winced in a metaphorical pain.

GALLUMPH IS A REAL WORD GOD DAMNIT!!!!

“Now I’m scared to sleep. I have to have the medicines, or my anxiety and headaches are through the roof, and if I do have the medicines, it’s nightmares. These aren’t the kind of over the top nightmares of snakes and zombies chasing you or some worst irrational fear come true”, this time I shuddered

Speaking of rhymes, you know what rhymes with Geeta? Pita. Mmmmmm. I could totally eat some Pita bread and Hummus right about now. Geeta, sat alone eating her pita — damn I am good at rhymes. I could totally come up with something like Lewis Carroll or Roald Dahl. I should give it a try.

“These are nightmares that are all too real, that almost feel like leaning a little too far back in a chair. That moment when the pit of your stomach goes empty and nothing else in the world seems to matter. These are missed deadlines, and one parent dying of old age; a sick pet, and a lost job. This is a primal, relatable, urban fear, doctor, fuelled by some sick combination of my imagination and your new dream, nay, nightmare inducing drug.

I gasped, a lone tear made its way down my cheek

Dr.Geeta sighed.

“You’d make a very good serial killer if you chose to ever become one. But you won’t, I know that”, she smiled, and then chuckled, “You’re far too self-aware for my good. You do all my work for me.”

“I know”, I smiled wryly, “I’m just using you for the prescriptions”

Okay, Let’s do this. To make sense of every flurry and flutter — dither and hither Engaged in dilly-dallies, outrageous trashy follies.Yeah, no that doesn’t make any sense. But, wait: what does?

— — — — — — — —

This is the fourth in a lockdown writing series part of a writing group.

Today’s prompts were

Ugh. Revulsion was stirring inside me, overtaking my painstakingly and lovingly nurtured self-loathing.

GALLUMPH IS A REAL WORD GOD DAMNIT!!!!

I looked up at the statue, wondering what God would have to say about my unique mess.

To make sense of every flurry and flutter — dither and hither

Engaged in dilly-dallies, outrageous trashy follies.