Starry, Starry Night

The swirling stars were beckoning me from across the psychiatrist's waiting room, inviting me to join them in their eternal dance, granting me the clarity of mind I needed to understand why my mind drifted the way it did.

Schizoid-affective disorder, that had been the diagnosis. Medications, taken.

Therapy, reccomended. Steps, taken. The only thing that was missing was dancing with the stars.

No, not those ones! I'm not talking about the tv show! I'm talking about the real stars, the ones van Gogh painted for all of us to look at and enjoy - the soothing ones that guide us through the night.

Everything was getting slowly better, my brain chemistry getting balanced again as I added the much needed extra help, and my understanding of myself proving easier as I looked into the ways my disorder affects people. I felt seen, I felt understood in the hands of my doctor. Now all I wanted to do was dance with the stars. The swirly, whirly stars that were calling out to me while I waited for her to call me in.

I finally felt like I could go for what I truly wanted in life, maybe finally get to apply for my Masters, perhaps? Get back into acting? Maybe. Could be. I'd have to think about it. Try again to get into modelling? Oh, that'd be a bit frightening. Maybe after I get my body back from how bad the miscarriages were. Let me dance with the stars first, maybe then I'd feel better about myself. Let me just join the swirly, twirly stars and maybe I could then also shine.

I could feel myself making plans, wondering how much of my old dreams I could make come true - wondering if it wasn't too late to try again. How much more could I learn? How much more could I explore of life, and art and creating my path? I thought I would even break up with my boyfriend. Not now, but perhaps when I felt stronger, less susceptible to his charms. I hoped it was not too late. In the meantime I'd go and dance with the stars!

Was this what van Gogh saw? Was this what he felt and thought about when he painted those stars? I could almost feel it, imagine it so... Almost as easily as I often imagined myself drinking coffee at the Café Terrace at Night, under the bright awning, gazing out into the night, up at my dear, swirling stars.

'Good morning, my dear,' my psychiatrist said from the door. It was rare for her to come out directly. 'I'm ready for you now.'

I nodded and walked towards the door, glancing back at the painting of the swirling stars.

She looked both ways, making sure we were alone.

'I wanted to see you walk,' she said. 'I needed to see how you were after he made you fall and lose the baby.'

I wasn't sure how to answer. She knew. I couldn't hide how bad it was. How he made me fall was the least of the bad things he had done. I just knew the time was ripe. I crossed the threshold and there I was, dancing with the swirly, whirly, twirly stars.

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