O.A. - Ruby

“Tell me, how have you been feeling this week?” Maria was still taking some notes.

Wait, I would really like to fantasize some more…

“Do you mean physically?”

“Physically, mentally… Have you felt sad? Has anything upset you? Or have you felt emotionally uplifted? How was your week?”

“Well… I am concerned that sometimes it can be difficult to concentrate on something. Sometimes I just don’t hear what my interlocutor is saying. You know, it flies into one ear and out the other. This happens to me in a literal fashion. At work, in conversations with friends… At some point I catch myself completely immersed in some of my spontaneous reflections and I can’t remember from what moment this happened. I can’t even improvise. I have to smile like a fool and hope that I will not need to connect to the conversation.”

“How long have you noticed such problems with concentration?”

“Yeah well, as long as I can remember. At school I could not learn what was not interesting and this was almost 90% of the educational material. At the institute, I considered myself to be just an inattentive and easily distracted dreamer. But there was one case… Once when my boyfriend and I were having sex… It was almost too late but I caught myself thinking during the process, about the age at which I began to distinguish special effects in films. You know… Understand that they are special effects. It’s good that I came to my senses in time. And lucky the lights were off. This was the first and hopefully the last time I had to fake an orgasm. And for guys mind you, this is much more difficult to do. If there was an Oscar for that I would be the undisputed winner.”

“Were you excited at that moment? Did you want intimacy with your partner or was it,” Maria made a short pause, trying to find the right word, “… routine?”

Why can’t we just call a spade a spade?

“That’s the problem: I was horny and I wanted my boyfriend, but then at some point, I just fell into my own thoughts. And after that incident, not only did I become afraid of dementia, but now even during sex I could not completely relax since I needed to keep my thoughts under control all the time so as not to disappear into them.”

“I understand you. Tell me, how was your week?”

“Like one solid non-stop groundhog day. Every day is similar to the previous ones. I wake up, take a shower, brush my teeth, sometimes have breakfast, trudge to work then go home after work. Oh, and I read.”

“What are you reading?”

“Any literature I can find about mental disorders. Just yesterday I finished reading a book called My Victory Over Bipolar Disorder. I don’t remember the author, some old broad who faked the title about a victory. As it turned out after reading the whole thing there was no actual information about any kind of victory. I even took the time and spent the energy to read all of the author’s thanks at the end of the book, just in case she decided to share her secret there, but nothing, nowhere. The real conclusion of the book is that all your life you will have to take pills and visit psychotherapists, but the most important thing is not to lose your optimism. Why the hell be optimistic when you realize that you will forever need pills just to function? You will need to save and hold onto prescriptions and always have a spare supply. I also read on some forum that bipolar disorder forces us to undergo premature aging with all of its physical and mental degradations, years, even decades, before the due age. Somehow this all greatly lowers my expectations from life, you know. All in all however I had hoped to find at least some useful information for myself…”

“Oleg, I don’t think you should read that kind of literature. In many cases, it is written subjectively and even when people with the same problems as yours start to see improvements, reading such books can only make things worse. Your room mates, how do you communicate with them? Are you friends with them?”

“Yes.” Family.

Maria made it clear with a glance that she was waiting for a more complete answer.

I kind of pay money for the time I spend to deal with my problems, not for talking about my friends.

“We practically did not intersect this past week. The traditional evening board game meeting didn’t even take place yesterday. Amir has some rehearsals. In addition to work, Sopha now also has Herman. By the way, I hadn’t paid attention as to whether he had already stayed with us for the night. So, in fact I only saw Camilla. Have you ever tasted sweet herring? It’s pretty good, I can tell you.”

“So you had no one to share your experiences with this week?”

Well, today is only Saturday, and I am sharing with you.

“Yeah, somehow there was no need. In case of emergency, there is my diary. Generally, perhaps, I have no need to share my cockroaches with anyone. You are an exception, of course. Although I’m not sure it will do any good.”

“Tell me, why do you think that is so?”

“Well… How can I explain it to you? No matter what, all experiences and thoughts cannot be turned into the desired and correct form of words. It would be easier to communicate with telepaths so that they could look into my head and understand what is happening in there. In all honesty, we are all on our own, we are all alone. THERE, in our head, each of us is alone. No one will ever be able to know you completely, your whole world, except yourself. Who will understand your jokes better than anyone? Who doesn’t need to hear an explanation about anything? Who knows all the reasons, details and all of the background for all of your actions and deeds? So why share this with someone when they can only listen to you but not understand, and when in doing so you can’t even find relief. I don’t know. This does not apply to you, I’m just thinking out loud, so to speak.”

The therapist smiled.

As soon as I was outside after the session with Maria, my mobile rang.

“Hi Mom.”

“Hello son. How are you? What are you doing?”

“Everything is fine. I was with friends at the climbing wall. We had a lot of fun. I’m going home now. Probably stop by Starbucks on the way, grab a coffee and take a leisurely stroll through the park. How are you? How are things there?”

“Sounds wonderful! I’m fine. I watched the clip that you sent me on Facebook, they did a really great job. Ordinary mannequins look so animated! And my attention was drawn to what you were talking about: you really get the feeling that you can read live emotions on their faces. But this is thanks to the music and the work of the camera operator, of course.”

“Of course, that is what was intended,” I smiled. “What are you planning to do in the evening?”

“I don’t even know. I’ll read a book or watch a movie. I still can’t believe that starting Monday I am officially retired.”

“Sounds good too. Have a nice evening then?”

“Yes, then have a good evening, see you soon.”

“Until next time, I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Mom gave birth to me at the age of 26, on February 29. I was not a planned child. As my mother once said, the birth went easily and almost imperceptibly: “There I was being taken to the maternity ward and then suddenly you were in my arms.”

For as long as I can remember, she never raised her voice at me, and there were no conflicts between us. She talked to me on equal terms, as with a friend. For me, she too was and remains a friend or an older sister. It seems to me that there is no suitable age to become a parent. I remember myself at the age of 26, I had the same mindset as at 17. Mom was not ready to become a mother, but decided to deal with problems as they came. So, after my appearance, we began to grow together, and now our friendship is 30 years old.