A glimpse

We took a taxi that drove for an hour, crossing state lines. Once we reached the city, we caught a tram to the center and walked for half an hour, weaving through the grey and blue tones of old buildings. the sun, warm and gentle, made the cold and polluted air a little more tolerable. each time we passed cars stuck in traffic or stumbled upon a piss-scented alley, I held my breath and silently counted my blessings. by the time we reached the buildings, the idea of escaping them—and cutting my losses—was already circling in my head. I even toyed with the thought of stepping into the street, letting a car put an end to my misery. But with the traffic and the pothole-ridden road, I doubted it would be a clean and quick death.

After a few minutes of searching, we found the door and stepped inside. The hallway was dark as night. Cracked tiles littered the floor, some missing entirely, and the air smelled… strange. Not piss, but not soap either. We climbed the tall twisting staircase and rang the doorbell. He opened it quickly, with the look of annoyance plastered on his face.
we walked inside, it was empty but a little warm, and after a brief examination of my blood work and a few clipped exchanges, he declared there was nothing physically wrong with me—aside from the "usual" depression that he diagnosed last time. I sat there, matching his annoyance with my own.

"I told them there was nothing wrong" I said flatly.

And yet, as I spoke, a sudden rush of emotions surged to the surface. I wanted to cry. My thoughts raced with memories of the sharp, unbearable pain hammering in my brain, of begging God to take my life and end the suffering. the flaming metal rod piercing through my eye to the back of my skull. the hour-long blindness, and the relief when my vision finally returned to normal. none that I ever spoke to anyone.

"I keep telling her I’m fine," I muttered. "But she insists I see a doctor. "

"You can’t blame her," he said. "She just wants what’s best for you. "

He asked her to leave and then turned to me, studying my face with a look that balanced suspicion and expectation.

"Whatever you say to me stays in this room," he assured me, his tone calm but firm. He started asking about relationships: boyfriends, friends, lovers.

"I’m not interested in boyfriends" I said. "I don’t care about that. "

Even as I spoke, my thoughts strayed. What was the point of relationships? I was barely holding on to my own life, my own body. How could I possibly hold on to someone else? For too long, I’d poured everything I had into caring for other people’s emotions. I was done. It was time to focus on myself—my future, my needs, my desires. Gold, I thought, I need the gold to my broken vase, only then can I hold water and pour into others what was poured into me. love, kindness, empathy. The conversation shifted, and I found myself talking about my family. Their relationships were crumbling, yet somehow, everyone expected me to be the glue, the cure for their chaos. tears spilled from me like never before, from my first words to the last, I cried and then apologised. I collected myself as quickly as I saw the worry creep over his face. then stopped crying and instinctively smiled.

"What happens between them is their responsibility." he said. "It’s not on you, and it’s not up to you, it's not your business. I may fight with my children but I still love them and speak to them. "

But he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. The burden they placed on me wasn’t something I could just walk away from. They didn’t want to fix themselves but resented me for trying to let go. I had carried this weight since childhood. Now, I was desperate to put it down. As I spoke, I noticed his eyes, his expressions. He began to offer gentle compliments, weaving them into his advice. He told me to stand. For a moment, it looked like he was going to hug me But then he stopped himself, the line between compassion and professionalism too sharp to cross. Oddly, he reminded me of my grandfather. Was that why it felt so easy to talk to him about my family? Why I could confide in him about things I’d never shared with anyone?

"We’ll set up regular sessions, just you and me," he said. "No one else. And I won’t send you to some therapist who’ll just throw meds at you. This isn’t something you fix with drugs. "

I nodded, but in my mind, I was already retreating. I will never speak of this again. I may never come back. I’ve already said too much.

When the session ended, he opened the door and called her back in. She noticed my red eyes but didn’t say anything. After a brief exchange between them, we left. we walked for a while before stopping at a small store. I bought chocolate and sweets to lift my mood, along with tissues for my nose.

"Were you crying?" she asked.
"No," I answered. She didn’t press further.

The walk to the apartment took twenty minutes. We weren’t sure if she would be home, so we dragged our feet. Before coming to the city, we’d called to let her know we were coming, and she’d assured us she’d be back from her visit to the clinic by the time we arrived. When we reached the building, we rang the intercom and waited. She expressed that we might not find her home. I told her we’d try again and rang a second time. as she spoke to me, I heard children’s voices through the intercom.

"It’s _______, open up," I said.

The buzzer sounded, and we pushed open the heavy, metallic French door. Inside, it was dark and cold. The damp smell of the hallway made the chill outside seem almost pleasant. We walked to the elevator and pressed the red button to call it down.The elevator was criminally small. We stuffed the bag inside first, then she stepped in, and I followed, squeezing myself into the tiny space. I couldn’t help but think how old the building was, how fragile it seemed. What if the cables snapped? This small metal box could easily become our coffin.
I pressed the button for the fourth floor, and we began our slow ascent. She was excited to see her sister. I felt nothing. A small pang of guilt flickered in my chest—not because I didn’t feel anything, but because I no longer cared that I didn’t. The reason for this trip weighed heavily on me, like a stone in my stomach. I took a deep breath, hoping to steady myself.

When we arrived, we pushed the door open and stepped off the elevator. At the apartment, we rang the bell and waited. Footsteps approached, and the door swung open. She greeted us with a warm smile, kissed our cheeks, and asked how we were. Her voice was light, like a mother. We walked into the kitchen and set the bags on the chairs. She mentioned we didn’t need to bring food but thanked us anyway.Then she asked about the doctor’s appointment.

"Hedidn’t find anything wrong" she replied before I could.

Everyone was pleased.