grayscale photo of support group having a discussion

I Am Addicted To Golf

17 mins 1 yr

I sat in the none too comfy chair, opposite the Doc, fidgeting like a schoolboy outside the Principal’s office. Looking around the room I could see a framed certificate on the wall from some medical college. There was, also, a painting of something that might have been a scene from a horror movie. Strange thing to have on the wall of a psychiatrist, in my opinion. I was here to get help for my problem. My gaze fell upon a framed photograph of some sort of ink explosion in grainy shades of black and white. The Doc calmly consulted his notes in the chair opposite me. The air in the room seemed scented with pine fragrance or some such artificial odour. The Doc was a non-descript sort of fellow, around fiftyish I guessed, dressed in grey slacks and a mauve sweater. His head was crowned with receding silver locks. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and peered down at the pages he held in his hands. Time seemed to stand still. The unknown was all around me. I took another breath and exhaled a little too loudly. What would unfold I wondered. Where would this take me.

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