and there’s not really any getting myself clean, you know, because the dirtiness goes all the way through me.
Like, I can’t find the deep down part of me that’s pure or unsullied or whatever, the part of me where my soul is supposed to be.
Which means that I have maybe, like, no more of a soul than the bacteria do.”
“That’s not uncommon,” she said. Her catchphrase.
Dr. Singh then asked if I was willing to try exposure response therapy again, which I’d done back when I first started seeing her.
Basically I had to do stuff like touch my callused finger against a dirty surface and then not clean it or put a Band-Aid on.
It had sort of worked for a while, but now all I could remember was how scared it had made me,
and I couldn’t bear the thought of being that scared again, so I just shook my head no at the mention of it.
“Are you taking your Lexapro?” she asked. “Yeah,” I said. She just stared at me.
It freaks me out some to take it, so not every day.” “Freaks you out?” “I don’t know.”
She kept watching me, her foot tapping. The air felt dead in the room.
“If taking a pill makes you different, like, if it changes the way-down you... that’s just a screwed-up idea, you know?
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