Enter Mental Patient as he speaks with Therapist

concerning his discharge from the hospital.

 

Therapist: And how have you been on this

particular day?

 

Mental Patient: The usual.

 

Therapist: And how are the matters of your heart?

 

Mental Patient: Cold as a stone, almost to a point where just a slight touch of

the chisel has turned it into a sculpture of shattered pieces. 

 

Silence fills the room, as they stare at each other for a moment. The Therapist takes 

out a notepad, and begins to jot down. 

 

 

Therapist: Okay...well, ummm, on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your

anxiety? One being you're feeling great, five being neutral, and ten being super 

anxious to a point where you're out of control. 

 

Mental Patient: Zero, because it's the number where I don't have to point to. 

 

Therapist: I'm sorry, what did you say? Scribbles down some notes

I did not understand what you were saying because I was busy

writing down some notes. 

 

Mental Patient: stutters Just put down five. It'll make your job easier,

won't it?

 

Therapist: Well, okay then. Continues to scribble down notes as the room

is filled with more silence. Suddenly Mental Patient begins to ramble.

 

Mental Patient: I have a question. 

 

Therapist: Scribbles Go ahead. Puts notebook down to pay attention. 

 

Mental Patient: You know, ever since I was a young kid, I would always

feel a sense of invisibility, as though I've never existed, and sometimes

I couldn't help but live in a world--no, a house, where I've felt comforted

with the parents that were my imaginary friends and they would raise me,

feed me, care for me, and change my clothes, cheering for me to

achieve my dreams of being on-stage. And whenever I would be on

the stage, the looming fear of being shot would fill my mind, but

my brother called Humor would ease the pain. And then..BLAM!

I would get shot, with brain matter flying in multiple directions.

And as I would bleed out and begin to see the light, my family 

would rush over to my side, cry for me, and try to bring me back

to life. The whole audience would be filled with shock from

what they have witnessed, and the news, as I'm being carried away

like Hamlet with all the honor and splendor, would announce my death

as everyone would grieve me and light candles in my honor,

and videos would be made to honor me, as the world begins to 

tell the story of the tragedy known as my life. 

Stares for a moment, as though thinking of what to say, then speaks. 

Is that wrong? 

 

Therapist: stays stunned in silence for a moment, then speaks 

Well...ummm, that's definitely a lot to process right there. 

Scribbles some more in notebook. So, ummm...about your sex life,

how would you say that's going for ya? 

 

Mental Patient: Well, I'm still as virgined as ever, although 

I can't help but wonder if I'll ever feel the soft touch of love, 

or even the nurturing care of someone's lips so that I could

feel the motherly arms of the warm that has been out of my

reach since the moment I was swaddled in the cloth of

the coldness. 

 

Therapist: Okay...scribbles in notebook well, on a scale of 1 to 10, 

how would you recommend your stay here? One being not so great, five being

neutral, and ten being amazing. Silence fills the room as Mental Patient spaces out

before coming back to focus again.  Well, don't you seem deep in thought?

 

Mental Patient: Oh, umm...yeah. I guess I'll give it a 10, because of how

everything is here. 

 

Therapist: Well, that's great! Finishes scribbling in notebook  Well, we have

finished filling out your paperwork for your discharge. Hands Mental Patient

forms to sign. If you could just sign here, oh and there to, that would be great

and you'll be on your way. 

 

Mental Patient: Oh, umm...thanks. Really appreciate it. Signs the papers. The 

Therapist takes the papers and is just about getting ready to leave with the

paperwork when suddenly, Mental Patient begins to speak, stopping the 

Therapist as they begin to head out the door. I have a joke for you. 

 

Therapist: Looking around, holding the door handle What's the joke?

 

Mental Patient: So...ummm...three horsemen lose their horses during battle.

On the way to trace their steps, they begin to grow tired and walk into a 

bar for a quick break. They have a few drinks before walking out drunk, 

and then--get this: they say "Where did the horses go?"

Silence fills the room once more as the Therapist raises an eyebrow concerning

the joke. However, just to be kind, the Therapist laughs anyway. 

 

Therapist: Wow, well...I see you're quite the joker. Maybe you should be

on stage. Looks away, then begins to close the door. Well, I'll be right back.

You sit tight, and by the time I get back, your stuff will be ready for 

discharge. 

 

Mental Patient: Oh okay. Thanks...and see you soon. God bless. 

 

Therapist: Yeah...you too. Closes the door and walkes away. Mental Patient

looks down on the floor, processing and reflecting on what had just happened. 

 

Mental Patient: To themself  Huh. Well, that was quite the therapy session, but did

what did I learn on ways to cope? Did I really get anything out, and did I

really enjoy my stay here? Or was it a getaway from what was to come?

Did I learn how to control my breathing? Or am I still suffocating?

Will the drugs given to me soothe me? Or will they be an escape,

just like this place? Stares off for a moment, then comes back.

Man, I really did get the help I needed, didn't I?

 

Moments pass, and Therapist comes back with Mental Patient's stuff. Mental Patient 

gets up from their chair, shakes hands with the Therapist and they both walk out

the door. 

 

Exit Therapist and Mental Patient

 

The End.