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I shuffle over to the crowded waiting area and sit down. To kill time, I flick through a couple of old magazines, but the words swim before me in a whirlpool of confusion. I just can’t seem to focus on anything right now; Nick has hijacked my brain. Roughly an hour later, my name is called and I’m told to make my way to door five.
I enter the room and find a small, dark-haired woman seated at a table. She glances up from a stack of medical folders. “Please take a seat. I’ll be with you in just a second.”
“Thanks.” I sit down opposite her and flash a weak smile
Dr Wong looks about twenty with a beautiful face marred by too much foundation.
“You’re Carly Singleton?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. At least I got your name right. Okay, what can I do for you today?”
I shift awkwardly in my seat. “I’m not feeling very well.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know… I guess I’m just feeling a bit hopeless again.”
Dr Wong raises an eyebrow. “Hopeless?”
“Depressed,” I clarify. “Down in the dumps. In the doldrums. Whatever you want to call it, I’ve got it.”
Her voice adopts a soothing tone. “Have you ever been diagnosed with depression before?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“I’ve had it on and off for the past fifteen years.”
“Were you prescribed antidepressants?”
“Yes.” I cross my legs.
“Which ones?”
I give her the name of my prescription.
Dr Wong nods in recognition, and then she begins scribbling something in my file. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have your full medical history here, so I’m going to have to ask you a few more questions. Is that okay?”
I wet my lips. “Yes, that’s fine.”
She finishes scribbling, lays down her pen and looks at me. Her brown eyes are warm, compassionate. “Right, tell me, has anything happened to trigger this off?” I blink twice. She continues: “Has there been a particular incident that’s upset you recently?”
Tears prick my eyes, and I can’t speak for a couple of seconds. “I met a man. Someone I had a special connection with. I thought we had something really good going but he’s … he’s stopped talking to me, stopped taking my calls, and I miss him so much.” My voice cracks. “I feel so empty inside, so dead … it’s like I’m going mad.”
The doctor falls silent, her delicate features etched with concern. “Go on,” she says softly. “What else?”
I run my fingers through my hair. “I know this might sound crazy. I haven’t known him very long, but… I think I’m in love with him.”
Dr Wong pauses, choosing her words carefully. “And this wonderful man’s refusal to commit has caused a reprisal of your symptoms?”
“Yes, I-I think so.”
She scribbles something down in my file. Then, biting the end of her pen, she muses aloud: “Projection of hope.”
I frown at her. “What does that mean?”
