The weather was dismal and dreary much like my mood. The...

The weather was dismal and dreary; much like my mood. The clouds were grey and leaves flew across the pavement. The street was undisturbed and peaceful. The serenity of the scenery left me to wonder through the labyrinth of thoughts within my head. Although, my thoughts were dark and morbid which just worsened my mood. I was seeing my psychiatrist today. My parents decision to send me to a psychiatrist is just their way of stating that they think Im mental. I was beginning to have faith in their opinion as I moved across my room to my mirror. The reflection I saw was not what I wanted to see. It was a lie to me. This lie is a parasite which has spread and infected most of my brain. No matter my efforts of trying to bury this parasite†¦show more content†¦But I suppose my psychiatrist will help me try to find these redeeming features which I doubt even exist. We arrived at a plain, monolithic building. The setting was not inviting at all. Yet another dull aspect of the world around me. Despite the uninviting stature of the building, we were greeted by a warm bright red door which didnt seem to belong. I thought it was rather ironic that this object was out of place which is how many patients feel in the world around them. Was it deliberate or am I just being paranoid? I slowly walked up the steps and sat myself down in the waiting room. My perception of time slowed and it seemed I was waiting for hours. In reality my wait was just under ten minutes and they were ready for me. I was directed to a room by one of the receptionists and I was greeted by a middle aged man with a plain face. Not good looking but then not unattractive. He was middle aged judging by the smoky grey starting to appear at the edges of his black hair by the ears. He stood up; I suppose it was to be courteous. His suit was well fitted but not well cut which probably me ant his lack of motivation or seriousness for his job. I can relate to this as I dont want to indulge in other peoples personal issues. It would bore me. Why do you do that? hinting at something I had done. His voice was a deep, rich baritone voice which was fit to read any bed time story. I looked at him with confusion What? I uttered. My quiet alto pitched voice couldShow MoreRelatedThe Ballad of the Sad Cafe46714 Words   |  187 PagesThe Ballad of the Sad Cafà © and Other Stories by Carson McCullers Back Cover: When she was only twenty-three her first novel, The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, created a literary sensation. She is very special, one of America s superlative writers who conjures up a vision of existence as terrible as it is real, who takes us on shattering voyages into the depths of the spiritual isolation that underlies the human condition. A grotesque human triangle in a primitive Southern town. . . A young