On The Day When Godot Never Comes

Chances are that you are more likely to spot me in a subway catching rats for lunch, before you are going to hear me ask for food.
I DON'T ASK FOR HELP.

Right. I don't ask for help. I beg for it.

A month before moving to NY...
I drive myself to the ER. Self-diagnosis: something is wrong with me.
I mellow out in the patient's waiting room. The noise of a TV on the background, people burried into themselves. I'm waiting to be taken care of. Soon or not, but definatly certain. I disappear in a bliss.
-Lachimova!
-Yep, I'm here.
I'm smiling at the dawn of dead, lips squized. I follow the nurse with a walk of a saint. Silently, I sit down and gently place my head on my chest.

A brief conversation with a doctor. Half awake I explain that SOMETHING is seriously wrong with me. A couple hours later with all the tests possible she sees me again and declairs: You are perfectly healthy.
I cry. I nearly roll myself on the floor.
-But, but, something IS wrong with me!!! Please, you have to HELP ME! Help me! Hey you are the doctor! I try to remember the Hippocratic Oath. I cry.
- ARE you a doctor?! I convulsevly search for identification signs on her white robe.
- How long were you a doctor?!
She patinetly looks at me. Not arguing and explains that in the ER there are a lot of patients who need URGENT care.
And as she leaves the room, I throw the last bait: But what should I do?!
She turns around ans sais:
-There is nothing wrong with you. You are physically healthy. I recommend you talk to somebody. Call you doctor.
...smart woman.

(somehow, I never read into "You are physically healthy. Call your doctor." Neither anybody else would dare to point it out to me.)

I return to my car. Lay my driver seat back. And watch the rain hit the windshield.
Case closed.

There will be another attempt that would consist of three sessions 45 minutes long, spent with a fierce attempt to humiliate my shrink.


Can one help herself?

Can someone help?

How do I convince myself that life is worth of getting out bed?


A book on shelf that I have not touched, but, it jumps at me every time I pass by: "I can't go on, I will go on." Samuel Beckett
I don't want to read it. What if I find something that would make things clear to me? What do I do then?!