Clash Of The Rockbands
Dr. Mason
Daphne’s POV
I fidgeted in the sand-colored, cushioned chair, plucking at the edge of the clean white bandage wrapped around each of my wrists. Office silence permeated the air, only disrupted by the occasional trilling of the telephone and the quiet murmurings of the receptionist. Melrose sat beside me, staring down at the mellow, pale yellow carpet.
“Daphne Carlyle?” Melrose and I both looked up as a female voice called out my name. The woman in a navy blue skirt and white button-up blouse smiled as we both looked up. “Dr. Mason will see you now.”
I glanced over at Melrose and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. I looked back at the woman before rising to my feet and walking nervously over to her. Melrose didn’t accompany me, deciding that it would be best for me to just be able to pour my soul out without worrying about her hearing it.
The woman turned around and walked down the hall behind her. She stopped at a doorway about halfway down and knocked.
“Come in.” I heard a male voice call. The woman shot one more gracious smile at me before pushing the door open and allowing me to step in.
“Daphne Carlyle, Dr. Mason,” she announced. The man nodded without looking up from his folder. The woman stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The psychiatrist raised his head and smiled at me.
“Hello, Daphne, I’m Dr. Roger Mason.” he told me as he rose out of his seat. He walked over and extended a hand, and I shook it. “If you’ll please follow me.” Dr. Mason walked back over to his desk, picked up a folder, and then led the way over to another door. He opened it to reveal a slightly larger room than his office. He stepped back to allow me to pass through, and I did.
This room appeared slightly homier than his brightly lit office. Thick, lush chocolate brown carpet silenced my footsteps, and gold wallpaper covered the walls, shimmering slightly. Lamps with pale brown lampshades lit the whole room from where they sat on end tables dotted around the room. Their dim light spread around the room, not too bright, but not too dim. Large windows ran along one wall, framed by chocolate brown curtains. Sunlight shone into the room through them. A large, black, U-shaped leather couch sat in the middle of the homey room. Overall, it looked like a comfortable, lavish living room, minus the television.
“Do you like it?” Dr. Mason asked with a smile as he stepped around me and walked towards the couch. I nodded, and he motioned towards the couch with a hand. “Please, sit.” I walked over and sank down into the cushiony leather. Dr. Mason sat down across from me, opening the Manila folder up in his lap. “So...you attempted to commit suicide?”
Dr. Mason looked up at me and I raised my wrists, showing him the bandages wrapped around them.
“I’m surprised they didn’t put you in the Psych Ward.” Dr. Mason commented.
“Melrose told them that I didn’t have suicidal tendencies or anything, and that this was a one-time deal, so the doctors decided I could just visit a psychiatrist out of the hospital. I’ve never cut myself before, or anything of that nature, and I don’t have any scars that would say that I did, so that sort of helped too.” I answered, speaking for the first time since I’d stepped into his office.
“I’m very glad to hear that this is a one-time thing. And I’ll make sure that it stays that way.” Dr. Mason said before looking back at the folder. “I guess we’ll just start from the beginning then.” He closed his folder and put it beside him before focusing on me. “I’ll tell you a bit about myself, and then you can tell me a bit about yourself.” I nodded. “My favorite color is brown. What’s yours?”
“Um...I don’t have one?” I half answered/half asked. “I like all colors, really.”
Dr. Mason just nodded, so I guess that’s alright.
“My hobbies include surfing, playing basketball with my sons, and watching football with my best friends. What are some of your hobbies?”
“I like to listen to music and hang out with my friends. Normal teenage stuff like that,” I answered.
“Okay,” Dr. Mason replied. “So, you’re a senior. What do you want to do as a career?”
“I think I want to be a journalist for a local newspaper.” I answered truthfully. I’d wanted to do that ever since I was a freshman.
“Are you a good writer?” Dr. Mason asked.
“I’m pretty decent,” I answered. He nodded.
“Would you mind if we started talking about your parents’ deaths now? I think just talking about it helps the grief go away.” Dr. Mason asked.
“No, I don’t mind.” I answered.
“First off, tell me a bit about your parents. What they did for a living and their names and things like that,” Dr. Mason said.
“My mom’s name was Patricia.” I answered. “My dad’s name was Earl. My mom worked at a bakery in Indianapolis, and my dad was a car salesman. We lived in a really, super small suburb of Indianapolis. It was about five to ten minutes away from Indy, depending on which way you drove there.”
“So, you were typically small-town people?” Dr. Mason asked. I nodded.
“But I went to a high school in Indy. We were pretty much city people, we just officially lived in a small town.” I explained.
“And can you tell me how they died?” Dr. Mason asked hesitantly. I knew he thought he was pushing my limits. But for some reason, just talking about it with someone who was practically a complete stranger made me feel better. It made me feel like someone else knew how much I was suffering. It felt as though a huge weight was being lifted slowly off of my chest.
“They died in a car crash.” I answered. “The roads get pretty slick at certain times of the year, when they get covered in ice, and Mom and Dad were driving pretty late at night. Their car careened off of the road, rolled down a small hill, and hit a tree. They both fell into comas, and died at 1: 07 PM the next day.”
“I’m sorry. When did this happen?”
“Mid-January,” I answered.
“Do you have any siblings?”
I nodded.
“Melrose,” I answered. “She’s the one that’s been taking care of me until I turn eighteen.”
“And how is she coping with it?”
“Quite well,” I answered, almost enviously. “She has all her friends and her boyfriend to help her. I had practically no one since I had to move here.”
“And what does she do?”
“She’s a drummer for a successful all-female band.”
“That’s cool. Do you get to attend her concerts?”
“A few,” I answered.
“Are you two close?”
“Very.”
“Did she ever try to help you cope with your parents’ deaths?”
“I always acted happy around her, but I do think she tried to help me. She always tried to pay attention to me and talk to me, whether it was for five minutes or fifty.” I explained. “I’m sure that if she knew I had been depressed, she would have talked me into coming to a psychiatrist.”
“I find that many people suffering from depression keep it hidden from everyone else.” Dr. Mason began. “They decide to battle it, or lose to it, on their own. Many believe that no one else will understand, or will label them as someone they aren’t. And indeed, some people will label them, or lecture them about it, and it doesn’t help in the slightest. Did you think these things?”
“Melrose is just one of those really cheery people who can bounce back from anything and everything. She smiles all the time, and enjoys sharing her happiness with other people, and spreading it all over. She wants everyone to be happy. I didn’t think she would understand. I knew she would give me useless advice of a cheerful person, and I didn’t need cheery advice, I needed depressed advice, for a depressed person. And Melrose wouldn’t have provided that.” I explained. “I wasn’t scared of her labeling me, or lecturing me about it. I just knew she wouldn’t tell me anything useful.”
“I’m very glad to hear that Melrose is cheerful. I pray that she can help your recovery along with that cheerfulness.” Dr. Mason told me.
“I think she’s just worried about me now, though.” I replied, rubbing my forehead. “She’s been sort of upset ever since yesterday.”
“That’s very understandable. She loves you and cares for you very much, so she’ll naturally worry. But if you show signs of recovery and happiness, she won’t worry so much. So, please, Daphne, try to think happy. Try to let her cheerfulness rub off on you. It’ll make for the better. I know it will.” Dr. Mason looked down at his watch. “And it looks like our session is up.” He rose to his feet, and I did as well. We shook hands again. “I think you have potential to dig yourself out of this hole, Daphne. And if ever you need to call and talk to me about something, you can call the office or my home. I’m sure I’ll be at either of those two places.” He handed me a business card. I nodded and tucked it into my back pocket. “I will see you next week.”
“Have a good day, Dr. Mason.”
“You too, Daphne. You too.”
I fidgeted in the sand-colored, cushioned chair, plucking at the edge of the clean white bandage wrapped around each of my wrists. Office silence permeated the air, only disrupted by the occasional trilling of the telephone and the quiet murmurings of the receptionist. Melrose sat beside me, staring down at the mellow, pale yellow carpet.
“Daphne Carlyle?” Melrose and I both looked up as a female voice called out my name. The woman in a navy blue skirt and white button-up blouse smiled as we both looked up. “Dr. Mason will see you now.”
I glanced over at Melrose and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. I looked back at the woman before rising to my feet and walking nervously over to her. Melrose didn’t accompany me, deciding that it would be best for me to just be able to pour my soul out without worrying about her hearing it.
The woman turned around and walked down the hall behind her. She stopped at a doorway about halfway down and knocked.
“Come in.” I heard a male voice call. The woman shot one more gracious smile at me before pushing the door open and allowing me to step in.
“Daphne Carlyle, Dr. Mason,” she announced. The man nodded without looking up from his folder. The woman stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The psychiatrist raised his head and smiled at me.
“Hello, Daphne, I’m Dr. Roger Mason.” he told me as he rose out of his seat. He walked over and extended a hand, and I shook it. “If you’ll please follow me.” Dr. Mason walked back over to his desk, picked up a folder, and then led the way over to another door. He opened it to reveal a slightly larger room than his office. He stepped back to allow me to pass through, and I did.
This room appeared slightly homier than his brightly lit office. Thick, lush chocolate brown carpet silenced my footsteps, and gold wallpaper covered the walls, shimmering slightly. Lamps with pale brown lampshades lit the whole room from where they sat on end tables dotted around the room. Their dim light spread around the room, not too bright, but not too dim. Large windows ran along one wall, framed by chocolate brown curtains. Sunlight shone into the room through them. A large, black, U-shaped leather couch sat in the middle of the homey room. Overall, it looked like a comfortable, lavish living room, minus the television.
“Do you like it?” Dr. Mason asked with a smile as he stepped around me and walked towards the couch. I nodded, and he motioned towards the couch with a hand. “Please, sit.” I walked over and sank down into the cushiony leather. Dr. Mason sat down across from me, opening the Manila folder up in his lap. “So...you attempted to commit suicide?”
Dr. Mason looked up at me and I raised my wrists, showing him the bandages wrapped around them.
“I’m surprised they didn’t put you in the Psych Ward.” Dr. Mason commented.
“Melrose told them that I didn’t have suicidal tendencies or anything, and that this was a one-time deal, so the doctors decided I could just visit a psychiatrist out of the hospital. I’ve never cut myself before, or anything of that nature, and I don’t have any scars that would say that I did, so that sort of helped too.” I answered, speaking for the first time since I’d stepped into his office.
“I’m very glad to hear that this is a one-time thing. And I’ll make sure that it stays that way.” Dr. Mason said before looking back at the folder. “I guess we’ll just start from the beginning then.” He closed his folder and put it beside him before focusing on me. “I’ll tell you a bit about myself, and then you can tell me a bit about yourself.” I nodded. “My favorite color is brown. What’s yours?”
“Um...I don’t have one?” I half answered/half asked. “I like all colors, really.”
Dr. Mason just nodded, so I guess that’s alright.
“My hobbies include surfing, playing basketball with my sons, and watching football with my best friends. What are some of your hobbies?”
“I like to listen to music and hang out with my friends. Normal teenage stuff like that,” I answered.
“Okay,” Dr. Mason replied. “So, you’re a senior. What do you want to do as a career?”
“I think I want to be a journalist for a local newspaper.” I answered truthfully. I’d wanted to do that ever since I was a freshman.
“Are you a good writer?” Dr. Mason asked.
“I’m pretty decent,” I answered. He nodded.
“Would you mind if we started talking about your parents’ deaths now? I think just talking about it helps the grief go away.” Dr. Mason asked.
“No, I don’t mind.” I answered.
“First off, tell me a bit about your parents. What they did for a living and their names and things like that,” Dr. Mason said.
“My mom’s name was Patricia.” I answered. “My dad’s name was Earl. My mom worked at a bakery in Indianapolis, and my dad was a car salesman. We lived in a really, super small suburb of Indianapolis. It was about five to ten minutes away from Indy, depending on which way you drove there.”
“So, you were typically small-town people?” Dr. Mason asked. I nodded.
“But I went to a high school in Indy. We were pretty much city people, we just officially lived in a small town.” I explained.
“And can you tell me how they died?” Dr. Mason asked hesitantly. I knew he thought he was pushing my limits. But for some reason, just talking about it with someone who was practically a complete stranger made me feel better. It made me feel like someone else knew how much I was suffering. It felt as though a huge weight was being lifted slowly off of my chest.
“They died in a car crash.” I answered. “The roads get pretty slick at certain times of the year, when they get covered in ice, and Mom and Dad were driving pretty late at night. Their car careened off of the road, rolled down a small hill, and hit a tree. They both fell into comas, and died at 1: 07 PM the next day.”
“I’m sorry. When did this happen?”
“Mid-January,” I answered.
“Do you have any siblings?”
I nodded.
“Melrose,” I answered. “She’s the one that’s been taking care of me until I turn eighteen.”
“And how is she coping with it?”
“Quite well,” I answered, almost enviously. “She has all her friends and her boyfriend to help her. I had practically no one since I had to move here.”
“And what does she do?”
“She’s a drummer for a successful all-female band.”
“That’s cool. Do you get to attend her concerts?”
“A few,” I answered.
“Are you two close?”
“Very.”
“Did she ever try to help you cope with your parents’ deaths?”
“I always acted happy around her, but I do think she tried to help me. She always tried to pay attention to me and talk to me, whether it was for five minutes or fifty.” I explained. “I’m sure that if she knew I had been depressed, she would have talked me into coming to a psychiatrist.”
“I find that many people suffering from depression keep it hidden from everyone else.” Dr. Mason began. “They decide to battle it, or lose to it, on their own. Many believe that no one else will understand, or will label them as someone they aren’t. And indeed, some people will label them, or lecture them about it, and it doesn’t help in the slightest. Did you think these things?”
“Melrose is just one of those really cheery people who can bounce back from anything and everything. She smiles all the time, and enjoys sharing her happiness with other people, and spreading it all over. She wants everyone to be happy. I didn’t think she would understand. I knew she would give me useless advice of a cheerful person, and I didn’t need cheery advice, I needed depressed advice, for a depressed person. And Melrose wouldn’t have provided that.” I explained. “I wasn’t scared of her labeling me, or lecturing me about it. I just knew she wouldn’t tell me anything useful.”
“I’m very glad to hear that Melrose is cheerful. I pray that she can help your recovery along with that cheerfulness.” Dr. Mason told me.
“I think she’s just worried about me now, though.” I replied, rubbing my forehead. “She’s been sort of upset ever since yesterday.”
“That’s very understandable. She loves you and cares for you very much, so she’ll naturally worry. But if you show signs of recovery and happiness, she won’t worry so much. So, please, Daphne, try to think happy. Try to let her cheerfulness rub off on you. It’ll make for the better. I know it will.” Dr. Mason looked down at his watch. “And it looks like our session is up.” He rose to his feet, and I did as well. We shook hands again. “I think you have potential to dig yourself out of this hole, Daphne. And if ever you need to call and talk to me about something, you can call the office or my home. I’m sure I’ll be at either of those two places.” He handed me a business card. I nodded and tucked it into my back pocket. “I will see you next week.”
“Have a good day, Dr. Mason.”
“You too, Daphne. You too.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I know that they would probably put her in the Psych Ward...But I didn't want Daphne in the Psych Ward! So I didn't put her in there. =} Ah, the benefits of fiction.Comments?