Chapter 10: The Best Life Ever? (Probably Not, But Maybe Okay)

The therapist’s office, usually a sterile landscape of beige and existential dread, felt particularly oppressive today. Dr. Anya Petrova, bless her perpetually furrowed brow, was attempting to unravel the Gordian knot that was my life. Today’s topic: “making choices.” Apparently, I had a penchant for letting choices make me. Or, more accurately, letting the lack of them – or the terrifying abundance of them – send me spiraling into the comforting abyss of prescription-induced oblivion.

“Luna,” she began, her voice a gentle current against the rocky shore of my apathy, “we’ve talked about the… urges. The desire to escape. But you’ve been here, haven’t you? You’ve chosen to be here, today.”

I offered a noncommittal shrug, tracing the intricate pattern on the worn fabric of the couch. “It’s either here or the emergency room. And frankly, the ER has worse lighting and a higher probability of encountering someone who smells like despair and stale cigarettes.”