Everything is a camera


“So last night I was leaping around the rooftops of Aberdeen, on my way to meet the King of the Vampires.”

He did not even look up, his hands were busy taking notes on his computer.  The little clacking of the keys distracting me just enough to stop me from falling back into a mental screen-saving stupour.

“You have mentioned before that you try and live each moment as if you were part of a film. Why do you think that way?”
His voice was deep and calm.  Completely ignoring anything I actually said.  This was the way it went in here.  They sit me down in a comfortable chair, offer me something to drink and then spend the next hour telling me that everything I know to be true, is actually just a fantasy.

It’s not but nothing I say can convince them otherwise. This is the cost of being taken into treatment after I broke down.

So I smile.

Tell the truth.

Listen to how wrong I am.

Smile again.

The session ends.

We part.

Until the next time.

There is a part of me that wants to tell them exactly what they want to hear.  How everything is wonderful and I am not part of a multi dimensional agency that is protecting the many thousands of words that make up our reality.  I really do but then I would be lying.  I have to keep some part of me that I am proud of.  Some part of my being that is actually pure and true.

They don’t want to hear that though.  It is a symptom of my illness they say, while encouraging me to take drugs that will “balance you out better and allow you to see the world as it is and not as you want it to be”.

Bizarrely that is exactly the opposite of what the medication does.

I decide to answer the counsellors question.

“Well I honestly believe that, whatever you are doing, you should look as cool as possible.”

Click clack.  Still he does not look at me.  I continue, there is an unspoken challenge there now.  I will make you look at me, I think to myself.

A wicked smile creeps across my lips and I tell him everything.

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