"So what's been making you upset," my therapist asks me.

"I don't know. One day I'm on top of the world, and the next day I want to end it all."

"But there has to be a reason. Have you been dating anyone? How's work?"

"I've been single for 4 years now. Work is great, I got another raise," both of these are true.

"You don't seem like you're willing to share. If we're to solve your problem, we have to communicate," he sits his pen and pad on the table.

"I'm telling you the truth. My problem is I don't know why I feel like this."

For a moment, we just stare at each other. He wants me to answer a question, I'm asking him. How the fuck am I supposed to know why I'm sad. I just wake up like this some days. I don't have the answer. I've always been like this. It's his job to help me, and he's treating this like an interrogation. Is he about offer me a plea deal? Three zanex and I'll tell him about my mother? I don't know what he wants. I don't know what the last therapist wanted. I just want an answer, and nobody can give me one.

"Are you invested in this?"

"I mean, I am. But, you're not. You keep asking me why I'm sad, and I keep telling you that if I knew, I wouldn't be here."

"Maybe you don't really have a problem. If you did, the answer would be inside you."

"Fuck this," I get up and walk out the door.

Therapy, who needs it. This shit is expensive. Then they just expect you to solve your own problems. If I knew the answer, I wouldn't be here.