Doug

I am Doug’s empty canvas.

I am his nerve endings firing with the ferocity of a lightning storm.

I am Doug’s eyes narrowing in the mirror.

Dear journal,

My name is Doug. I wake every morning with a burning desire to live. A rash of ambition burning on my soul. They tell me i have depression. My therapist has suggested journaling as a way to organize my thoughts. He tells me stories of break through that come from his medical journals. What would break through mean for me? Submission to what my parents want for me. Want for me… the notion is laughable! More like what they want for them selves. College? The sunny spring graduation day? I refuse to live through your American day dream! Dr. Heller thinks this is the pathway to my break through. He asked me today how I was doing with my new meds. I asked him how he was doing with the rising price of gas and our failing economy? Needless to say he was utterly unamused. I guess when you charge five hundred dollars an hour the price of petroleum isn’t exactly burning a hole in your wallet. I try to tell mom that this is a waste of her money and to go find some pyramid scam to invest in, but she remains persistent that I am the best investment she can pour herself into. Her optimism is nauseating…

Doug