REALITY SHOW
If it tastes like an apple, and looks like an apple.
- So, what do you remember about the show? - The therapist asked. The real one, not the one on the show. I supposed the one on the show was real, too.
- Not much. - I struggled. The show appeared only in bits and pieces. I knew only one thing for sure, I needed a therapist.
- Take your time, Viktor. - The therapist, a pleasant old man who wore a beret in-door, sat comfortably on his reclining chair. What he meant to say was “the show already paid for your therapy sessions, the longer you take, the more money I make.”
- I remembered volunteering for it. And the room. The room was white, with a lightbulb hanging overhead. I could turn it off, they told me… they told me I can do anything in that room.
- And what did you do?
- I sat and talked to a therapist over a microphone. His answers came through speakers in the ceiling. I could turn it off.
- Did you? - I didn’t.
- We’re getting some where. Then what? - He didn’t have to ask. I knew he watched the show already. I wasn’t allowed to. He asked anyway, and I answered.
- There was the screen. It told me how brave I was, and how many people I’d helped by coming onto the show. There was a mirror, so I could see myself.
- How did you see yourself?
- Unwell. Pale. Curious. Excited. Hate. Hated…
- How are you unwell? - The therapist, the old man with the beret. His face was starting to fade. His voice… his voice was the one on the show’s.
- I have depression.
- And what makes you say that? - I feel sad. And I’d sleep all day.
- I was sitting now, in the white room. I could see myself staring back.
- Do you sleep at night? - Yes. I would wake at around 10. Then forced myself to sleep. Then woke up and ate something. Then sleep again.
- Do you feel the same now? Has it gotten better since? - The beret man was back. His room was back. His reclining chair was back.
- I can’t say that it had or hadn’t. I don’t sleep as much anymore, because I would think of the show if I do. I know I needed therapy. I don’t know why.
- Fascinating. Tell me more. What else troubles you about the show?
- I couldn’t figure out if whoever was speaking to me was man or machine.
- Well, that was the show.
- I had to know. But I can’t remember. No one does.
- They haven’t revealed it yet. The season still has some episodes left.
- But what if it was a machine? And I felt better thanks to it?
- Is that not a good thing?
- Then what are you for?
- Why did you volunteer for the show? - The white room again.
- I… I wanted free therapy. I’ve seen a few episodes. They really went out of their way to cover up your identity. That works very well for me.
- The memories were coming back now, pieces fitting together. I could see myself staring back.
- Are your parents against mental health care?
- Of course they are. All parents are.
- Did you try telling them?
- All I got was “anyone feels a bit sad from time to time” and “don’t go around spouting that nonsense about yourself.” I’ve never told anyone else either, fearing what they thought of me.
- Well, I do think I’d give a better impression and a better environment than a machine.
- A lot of people prefer anonymity when it came to their mental health issues. Others enjoyed doing it remotely. Others can’t get to you. The machine would definitely be cheaper, if they work.
- We shall see if they work in the next few episodes. Was it really you, on the show?
- I… don’t know. I couldn’t see the camera, but I knew I was… performing. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself, I could see the slightest of exaggeration, either in tone of voice or reaction. I cried when I talked about my family. I didn’t feel like crying, but it felt right.
- So, was everything fake? - No. It felt more like… I didn’t know myself. I was looking at myself as if I was on the other side of the TV, and… I felt sorry for the person I was looking at. “How did he get this far in Life?” And I cried.
- I remembered that part. The therapist then asked: “Have you ever thought about why you cry? Or why you are sad? Emotions, at their most broken-down level, are merely chemicals. People with clinical depression often have increased levels of monoamine oxidase A (MAO-A), an enzyme that breaks down key neurotransmitters, resulting in very low levels of serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine.”
- I did find that strange. Maybe he was a machine. I voted that he was a “human” however.
- Well, it’s truly hard to tell, but I don’t want to ruin the ending for myself by overanalyzing it. It could be a red-herring for all we know.
- Do you think the machines can replace you?
- No, I don’t. - He didn’t hesitate.
- They can help, in certain situations you have listed yourself. They can follow behavioral patterns of therapists, and certainly can answer any questions as well as any of us can. They also don’t have pesky little affections and emotions that may develop between therapists-patients, they won’t gossip confidential therapists-patients information, they won’t prolong a session for more money. They might even learn to hold your hand, or pat you on the shoulder.
- But… do I want that from a machine?
- Yes, do you?
- What if it was a machine that looked exactly like a human?
- Well, what exactly is a human?
- I… I don’t know.
- Does it matter? If it looks like an apple, and tastes like an apple, what else do you call it?
An alarm went off. The therapist sat straight for the first time, shook my hand, and said “well, that’s it for today’s session. I will see you next week?” It was a question, but I didn’t answer.
That’s was different but I liked it. Interesting format to present the conversation in.