“That’s not uncommon. So part of you wanted to be kissing him and another part of you felt the intense worry
that comes with being intimate with someone.”
“Right, but I wasn’t worried about intimacy. I was worried about microbial exchange.”
“Well, your worry expressed itself as being about microbial exchange.” I just groaned at the therapy bullshit.
She asked me if I’d taken my Ativan. I told her I hadn’t brought it to Davis’s house.
And then she asked me if I was taking the Lexapro every day, and I was, like, not every day.
The conversation devolved into her telling me that medication only works if you take it,
and that I had to treat my health problem with consistency and care,
and me trying to explain that there is something intensely weird and upsetting
about the notion that you can only become yourself by ingesting a medication that changes your self.
When the conversation paused for a moment, I asked, “Why’d you put up that picture? Of that guy with the netting?”
“What aren’t you saying? What are you scared to say, Aza?” I thought about the real question,
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