The Place Where Hostility Grows

I sit here.

Behavioral health.

The hostility grows.

And I know why.

Today, I sit in a waiting room full of women.

7 of us.

7 of us.

What standards placed, what expectations set, what responsibilities held.

My head hurts.

I’m anxious.

But usually a quick, “I’m doing ok, need a refill” & on my way.

But is that why?

I’m anxious today, I mean.

To bottle.

Because the standards are held, the expectations set, & responsibilities held.

I hold them close.

A little too close.

They bleed & creep & simmer.

That word - simmer.

They bubble & they simmer - a reminder that I could be better, faster, skinnier, smarter, more calm, more outgoing, prettier, attractive, not too much.

7 of us.

I assume - one of my problems.

Yet, I’ve existed my whole life as girl and as woman.

I know the rules - faster, sharper, smarter, better.

8 of us now.

She just sat down.

“20 mg of lexapro, please!”

“Coming right up!”

“How’s the medicine helping?”

“Good, I guess??”

I say this with uncertainty because I don’t know life without it.

Doc, is it normal? Ok?

That I fall asleep a failure every night.

Does every person? Woman?

“Do you have thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

So…. It is?

Ok, I mean.

That I lay in bed simmering. Fuming at the thought.

The thought that I could’ve, SHOULD’VE been faster, better, smarter, slicker.

Because, no.

I don’t wanna hurt you.

& she probably doesn’t either.

But, this isn’t right.

Back in the waiting room.

Let’s add hydroxyzine.

‘Think I’ll be ok?’

Hypothetical; I don’t even ask.

I don’t ask because he doesn’t know.

I don’t ask because the 30 minutes are up.

I don’t ask because he doesn’t care.

And that is why… I understand why this is the place where hostility grows.