No one ever said changing was easy. But no one ever explained why I should.

By Niki Khoroushi

No one ever said changing was easy. But no one ever explained why I should.


I need to get out of here. I need to do it soon. I need to do it without anyone noticing.

I sit on the edge of my chair leaning forward. No one seems to notice. I sit back, stretching my legs out in front of me, my feet flat on the beige carpet. I sigh as loudly as I can. The woman sitting next to me looks up from her magazine and glances at me. I smile at her. She looks away.

I stare ahead. I have read everything on these walls at least seven times, yet my eyes are drawn to them and before I know it I’m reading them again. I need to get out of here.

I am not going into that room. Not this time. Not again. I know exactly what he’ll say. I don’t need to go into that room, I can hear what’s he’s going to say from here. He’ll tell me to take the pills and to do the exercise and to see him on a regular basis. He’ll tell me that I’ll feel different if I do what he says. He says things will change. He says I will change. But I never feel different. And I never change. 

I look for exit signs. There are none. This room, in contrast to this whole building, does not have one single bright green exit sign. No one can leave this room. You can come in, but you can’t get out. The only way out is through that room. Through the pills and the exercise and the seeing him on a regular basis.

If I can get out now, maybe I will feel different. Maybe I will change. Maybe if I rush out as fast as I can, my brain won’t know what’s hit it and all my thoughts will just fall out: one by one. Then he can come and sweep them up and take them into his office and put them in his file. My file. The file that gets bigger and bigger once every month. Sometimes twice a month. Unless it’s April in which case it goes out of control.

I don’t want to think about April.

I sigh again and look at the woman with the magazine. She does not look up. I look away.

Last time I was here, I didn’t stare at the walls. I sat very still and stared at the floor. There was nothing to read on the floor. Last time I was here there was no sighing. No looking around. No smiling at the woman with the magazine. Last time I was here, I felt different. I felt numb and voiceless. I felt empty and full up all at the same time.

Maybe I have changed.

But I don’t feel better. Maybe feeling different is not the same as feeling better. Maybe I want to feel better and he just wants me to change. Maybe that’s what everyone wants. I’m trying to feel better and they want me to change so that they’ll feel better. I don’t believe I will ever feel better if I keep coming here and sitting in this room with no exit.

Last time I was here it was April. Now it is May. What happens when April comes round again? Will I feel as I do now? Will I be reading the walls and smiling at strangers? Or will I be still, and looking down at the floor?

I start to read the walls. Ninth time. I need to get out of here.