As I wait for my Dad to pick me up from therapy, across the street is where I pick up my depression meds. I pass a pillar with the words “Stay Strong” written on it. My dad is also picking up medicine for his injured shoulder. In more ways that one, I am my father’s son.
I used to work at a post office in 2016. During my commute in 2017, I would pass this post box.
I have been parking here when I go to therapy and it’s a scene that doesn’t necessarily change but If I have a bad session or good session it’s something I’m looking at as a sit in my car.
My dad right after he got up from eating but more importantly, this was before politics consumed his life.
My Dad in his chair watching the news. It’s almost a daily ritual for him at this point. He and I differ politically and it has put somewhat of a strain on our relationship.
My mom has strong ties with religion as well as her being an important figure in my life. She came from a matriarchal family and is shown to be the matriarch in my patriarchal family.
Brandon pouring out the vodka is in the sense of him changing as person. It’s a ironic because he doesn’t necessarily drink but he has made some big progress on what he wants to do with his life and he’s making a lot of bold choices which I began noticing around that day.
What I am greeted with when I leave therapy.
Patricia and Bambi. Patricia is an old friend of mine and unfortunately Bambi passed away when she ran away the following year.
The irony of a oil tank in the snow.
An old best friend and I would go out into the Hudson for sailing trips and between 2010-2013. That friend and I don’t talk anymore.
As I enter this room I spill my secrets and worries as a white noise speaker drones outside of these walls.