O.A. - Ruby

© O.A., 2022

ISBN 978-5-0056-1747-7

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Part 1

In an instant, the sky was covered with dark lead-colored rain clouds. The clover field transformed itself into an endless black ocean. A deep rumbling sound suddenly appeared then disappeared just as quickly. For a minute, numbed by fear, Sandra froze in dead silence, until a giant whirlpool formed twenty meters away. Without hesitation, Sandra lay back down in the coffin and closed the lid.

“Wake up! It’s just a dream…” she repeated to herself, until coming to the realization that… she hadn’t the slightest idea in hell how to end the sentence.

I closed the laptop. No new thoughts or ideas. In just half an hour, I would have to go out and I had not yet had breakfast or even taken a shower. I’ll put on some jeans today, a neutral T-shirt and try to make a pleasantly decent impression.

At the registration desk I was told the number of the room I needed and stated that the doctor would personally call me in. I found a free seat and proceeded to wait for the appointed time.

Near each office one person sat. Apparently, we would all be received at the same time. A couple of seconds passed and, as if connected to the thought, the doors of all of the offices opened almost simultaneously and patients and doctors accompanying them came out of each in pairs.

“Are you Oleg?” My doctor turned out to be a young woman of about 33 to 35.

“Yes. Hello.”

“Hello. Please come in.”

We traded polite smiles, and I entered the office. It was a small room equipped with a comfortable looking sofa and two large overstuffed armchairs facing each other with a coffee table between them.

“Make yourself at home. You can sit wherever you’ll feel comfortable.”

My preference was one of the armchairs near the window because there was a cushion on it – the thought had flashed through my head that I might want to hug it during the session. The doctor sat down on the sofa.

“Well, let’s get acquainted. I’m Mary.”

What, that’s it? There should be some kind of unequal exchange of personal information.

“My name is Oleg. And to be perfectly honest, I have no idea where to start.”

“Start with whatever you want. Just talk about yourself, whatever you see as fitting.”

Well, I can’t stand stewed cabbage and love to walk on edges.

“Arthur recommended you to me. Unfortunately, his last name has slipped my mind. We address each other just by name. In short, he advised me to see you immediately.”

“Yes, he called me. So you know, as a rule, it is recommended that we conduct drug therapy and supportive care at the same time.”

“Yeah, I know but at the moment we spoke I was in no shape to discuss that. At the beginning I was in a horrible state from taking the drugs until we were able to adjust the dosages so that they were suitable for me. All told it took me almost two months to finally get to you.”

“Nevertheless you did good Oleg, in the end you came.”

Maria exudes pleasantness. Her smile draws you to her. When I’m talking to her, I don’t feel any emotional barriers that I need to jump over. I think we’ll get along just fine.

“Over the course of several years, I was suffering from periodic pains in the chest area. They started with a visit to another therapist, one who sent me to another gastroenterologist. He, after questioning me, in turn referred me to a psychiatrist. In the end the psychiatrist diagnosed me as suffering from bipolar disorder with pronounced psychosomatics. For some reason I didn’t really like that diagnosis. At that time, I was of the opinion that an example of a bipolar patient was Carrie Matheson 1 1 The main heroine of Homeland who suffers from bipolar syndrome. , who drank lithium with vodka and called the president at night so that he contacted the child protection authorities and ordered them not to take her daughter. For that reason, I was skeptical about the ‘news’ and went to another hospital where I was in fact diagnosed with bipolar disorder again. I was again at a loss. Having googled your center, in order to be sure, I decided to seek a third confirmation of the diagnosis. The third doctor who diagnosed me as bipolar was Arthur, with his full diagnosis being: ‘bipolar disorder with a predominance of depressive phases’. The third time I had nowhere to run, so I have to believe it.”

“How often do you experience depression?”

“In autumn and spring – all the time. During other seasons only occasionally. I just always thought it was simply some kind of vitamin deficiency. Well, and that I just take everything too close to heart.”

“Okay fine. Now, first off why don’t we talk about you and not the diagnosis. What do you do? What do you love? Do you have a hobby?”

“I love cinema and from time to time I attempt to write a book.” That will become a global bestseller .

“Are you working?”

You won’t even ask what I write about?

“Yeah. Just one of the office plankton. I sit at the computer all day performing the same tasks from Monday to Friday, and in order to somehow at least, express myself, in my free time I write.”

“Are you employed in your specialty?”

That is, we closed the topic of the book?

“No. I graduated with a degree in social work, but now I am engaged in the wholesale sales of spare parts for foreign cars. The funniest thing is that I don’t know a damn thing about foreign cars, or even just cars in general, nor even about auto parts.”

“Do you like your job?”

Obviously not.

“Well, it’s more of a way to earn a living and having the opportunity to visit a psychotherapist.”

“Do you have a close relationship with anyone? Are you dating a girl?”

An unnecessary question about the girl, generally it is more correct to ask only about the existence of a relationship .

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m gay.”

I liked Mary’s reaction, more precisely, her complete lack of reaction.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

We will definitely get along.

“No, no. No boyfriend. No boyfriend for me. I was not made for love.” I had wanted to say that in rhyme, so that there was not even a hint of drama.

“Tell me a little about your parents.”

So you’re not wondering why I don’t have a boyfriend?

“I have a wonderful mom. Really great. She’s more like an older sister or friend.”

“And your father?”

“You mean whether he knows or not?”

“Yes.”

“I have a stepfather. He doesn’t know.”

“And your father? Tell me about your father.”

“So what should I tell about him? Fatherhood wasn’t in the cards for him. My parents divorced when I was in the second grade and my mother and I began to live separately from him.”

“What is your most vivid memory connected to your father?”

I don’t know what exactly caused me to react in such a way but I laughed out loud. At the same time, I was not sure it was really funny to me.