I walked into a full waiting room a few minutes late for an appointment. A woman in her 50s was in front of me in line, and she was rummaging around in her purse. She couldn't find what she was looking for, so she proceeded to dump all of the contents of her purse onto the floor. A tampon, candy wrappers, pepper spray, receipts, and something that looked eerily like a big dildo. Maybe it was big or just average; who really knows? A boy who couldn't have been more than 10 years old, sitting with his mom, locked eyes with me. He looked at the dildo-looking object and then back at me with a confused look on his face. I had to ask myself at that moment, did he know what a dildo looked like, or did he have a staring problem? The mother noticed his gaze and redirected his attention back to his iPad. This confirmed in my mind that he did know what it was or had at least seen it in his house, and he is no longer allowed to go through his mother's drawers looking for a charger. This was further proved by how visibly uncomfortable the mom had become. The woman with the purse sprawled all over the colorful carpet lets out a yell, "I found it!" as one might do when they have found buried treasure after a long journey. She hands the clerk her insurance card, leaving all of her purse contents on the floor while this exchange is happening. She finishes up and goes to collect her stuff, finally realizing that the dildo-looking object has been out in the open for several minutes now. She snatches it up and puts it back in her purse with a nervous smile, looking up at me as if everyone in the room hadn't been staring at it for a while now. I get to the front of the line. "My name is Dylan, and I'm here for my first appointment." "WHAT? I can't hear you. Can you say that again?" I was taken aback and looked around to make sure this was still real life, especially because she was not screaming like this to the dildo woman in front of me. I repeat what I said. "Well, why didn't you just say that? What are they seeing you for today?" Oh, I forgot to mention that this appointment was at the psychiatrist's office, so a question like this is not one I was expecting. Quietly, I say, "Umm, depression." "WHAT? Honey, you're going to have to speak up." "Depression, I'm depressed!" My voice cracked toward the end, and I could feel the eyes on the back of my head. The dildo purse woman was already yesterday's news because a guy is screaming that he is depressed in a room of twenty-plus people. I hand her my insurance card, and she tells me to wait for my name to be called. I find an empty seat next to an older couple. The man immediately reaches out his hand. "I'm Dale, and this is my wife, Sharon. We've been together for 47 years. Isn't that right, Sharon?" "Fuck you, Dale." Dale smiles and looks back at me. "What's your name, young man?" "Dylan," "Well, what are the odds of that? My name is Dale, too!" I started to correct him, but I struggled to find the point. "I was named after Dale Carnegie; how about you?" I ponder for a moment and tell him, "Earnhardt." "Never heard of him. Have you met my wife, Sharon? We've been together for 47 years." I crack a smile and look the other way. A woman emerges from the office door. "Dale," Dale looks at me and then roars, "Which one?" I gesture to him, and Sharon says, "His name is Dylan, dumbass. Come on." With Dale and Sharon gone, I take out my phone, hoping to avoid any more interactions. Within 45 seconds of this phone time, a boy who was probably 14 or 15 is also on his phone, and the sound for the voice text goes off, and he says, "Schizophrenia." I obviously clocked this but then went back to what I was doing. He repeats it, "Schizophrenia, schizophrenia." He says this four or five times, and the last time, I swear, he looked at me right in the eyes and said it into the phone, smiling slightly. I'm not entirely sure, but I'm fairly certain. His dad, who is clearly accustomed to this behavior, having not been alarmed the first several times he said it out loud, finally says, "Son, what are you doing?" The boy responds, "I'm looking for a GIF." Of course, you know those classic schizophrenia GIFs we all love. "Dylan, we're ready for you." A wave of relief rushes over me, as I have never been so happy to go into a psychiatrist's office before. A man in his 50s ushers me to the correct room, and the room is barren except for a desk and a small couch. It reminded me of those videos from above where they are interrogating a potential murderer. The psychiatrist's name is Dr. Deeth, and I wish this were a joke. "It's pronounced Dee-th, not Death. Some people think that but don't worry, I'm not Dr. Death." Wow, what a relief, Dr. Deeth. Thank you for that. He opens his laptop and then asks me how I'm doing today. "I'm doing alright. There are some things that I wanted to talk to you about today..." Deeth cuts me off and says, "Dylan, why don't you tell me what's really wrong with you? I have a lot of appointments today, and I can't be beating around the bush." Mind you, I haven't said anything more than the previous unfinished sentence. He stands up from his desk and sits on the side of it with his legs hanging off. "Here's the deal, Dylan. I personally don't believe in all of this psychiatry and psychology nonsense. It's not science; I'm a doctor and don't really trust feelings. That's why my first wife divorced me; she said she couldn't trust my feelings, and I said, Good, I don't trust them either. That was probably the biggest reason that we didn't work out. I did also sleep with my secretary, which she didn't like. You might have actually met her today when you checked in, the older one." In my mind, I'm thinking about the woman who screamed at me a few minutes earlier. Yes, I did, in fact, meet her. He keeps going on and on about his own personal life and how he doesn't see his kids much anymore because they, too, have feelings that he can't deal with. He finishes his spiel with a question, "So what medicine do you want me to prescribe you because this is already running a little long, and I'm supposed to get lunch with a new lady?" He cups his hands around his mouth and says, "Just don't tell the secretary on the way out; she doesn't know I'm seeing other people." He winks at me, and I say, "Um, I'm not really sure about which medicine, honestly. That's kind of why I came to see you." "Dylan, you seem like a nice guy and everything, but it seems like maybe you just don't know what you want out of life. You need to take control of your own life. Have you considered exercising and drinking more water? Actually, yes, I love that. How about I prescribe you your own personal prescription of a little self-love? That's exactly what you need." I'm still sitting there once again, wondering if this is real life. "Ooo, it looks like your insurance is not the best, so this visit is going to be $350 that will need to be paid to the sexy secretary when you leave today. I know that is a lot for you because you don't really have a lot of money." Mind you, I haven't told him where I work or really anything about my life. "Since this may be a lot for you to pay today, I'll knock $25 off, so it'll be a more manageable $325. I think we made great progress today, Dylan. This is the first step to becoming the best version of yourself. We will schedule another appointment for a month from now to see how the prescription is working for you. Does July 25th work for you, around 10:00 a.m.? Ahh, I'm sure it does because you're probably not working anyway. Okay, I'll see you next time. Please exit through the door you came in and visit the front desk to pay your discounted rate." I get up and leave immediately without saying anything to Dr. Deeth. I go straight to the front desk and say that, "I need to pay for a session with Dr. Deeth today. He said it would be $325 instead of the $350 because I'm poor." She smiles and says, "Oh, Dr. Deeth, he has such a great heart". I give her my card, and she runs it and says, "Anything else I can help you with today?" "Yes, Dr. Deeth is sleeping with other people." "Wait, what did you say?" "Ohhh, now you can hear me?" She's yelling at me as I make my way to the door, and I hear, "Dale, wait!"