"And then I woke up!"
The lie tasted bitter in my mouth but I hadn't slept properly for nearly a week and I needed the tablets that I knew the Doctor would prescribe for me if I didn't sound like a nutter. I couldn't face telling this stranger ,who I only ever saw twice yearly for my check-ups, that the face in my television had been Real. My home had become unfamiliar territory, I had become unable to enjoy the time I spent there and, worst of all, my lack of sleep had resulted in my Being Noticed at work.
For the first time in my life, I had been pulled into The Office to talk about my Poor Performance. I had fumbled my way through some sort of excuse about Family Issues and, luckily for me, my boss was extremely understanding. She kept getting my name wrong throughout our Chat, but apart from that she had been full of kindly suggestions. Apparently there was a company psychologist on the fifth floor and Everybody went to see him. I declined, probably a little too vehemently, and insisted that I would be back to normal within a few days.
So here I was. My palms were sweating and I hoped that the Doctor would not want to shake my hand when I left the room. He kept tapping the computer keyboard on his desk as I told him all about the 'nightmares' that I felt were being caused by 'pressure at work' and my 'strained relationship with my mother'. I couldn't work out whether he was buying it or not, he made very little eye contact and I've never been much of a liar.
The chair I was seated in squeaked every time I moved. This was a disaster. Even the family photographs on his desk were glaring at me in an accusatory way. I shouldn't have come here. I should have gone to the psychiatrist. I could have told the truth, and then, at least when the men in white coats came to take me away, I wouldn't have felt like a filthy liar.
After what felt like hours, he pulled a piece of green paper from the gray printer on the shelf behind him, scribbled on it and handed it across to me.
"These should help with the lack of sleep. If you need more when they run out, phone my receptionist and she'll organise a repeat prescription." he grunted.
My ordeal was over and I had been successful in my quest for sleeping tablets. I felt like a prizefighter after twelve rounds in the ring. I was so surprised at the ease in which I had won my battle that I wasn't really concentrating as I hurried down the concrete steps outside the clinic. As I stuffed my slip of green paper into my over sized leatherette handbag, I somehow managed to twist my ankle. My right hand was jammed in the bag, and as I began to fall, my dark woollen coat billowed out and wrapped around my left. I was falling, and just as my face was about to smash on the kerb, a strong arm wrapped around me and hauled me back from the brink of intense pain and probably the largest dentist bill of my life.
