Psyche logo

The Interview

Inner Monologue of Depression

By Chantae HardingPublished 11 months ago 5 min read
The Interview
Photo by Alexander Naglestad on Unsplash

I pull into a parking lot space outside a dull grey building. I sit transfixed my eyes roving over the other cars. Why am I even here? I pull a bottle of perfume from my jockbox. I drown myself as if I can mask the scent of sadness in my soul. I push my door open flinching at the protest. Then I am seized by panic, slamming the door shut not bothering with the lock I rush the glass door. So like a mirror I can see the panic in my eyes. I pause to take a deep breath, then I pull the door to me and step past it. A chiming announces my presence, too loud to joyful. A head pop out of a door to my left. “Hi! You must be here for an interview. Go ahead and sit, we are just wrapping thing up. Oh yeah, also please fill out one of the papers on the table,” her voice is high pitched almost grating. She returns to what must be her office shutting the door. I stand for a second dazed. Then shaking myself back to reality I drop onto one of the twin leather couches.

I reach for the clipboard my hand unsteady. Why did I bother getting out of bed? Pulling the clipboard onto my lap I begin to read the questions. They are simple enough name, education, work experience. Why would anything I have done be impressive? I try to squash the thought but it roars. Refusing to be ignored. I fill out the paper before me sinking lower into the couch as monster inside keeps hurling insults.

There is a chiming and I look up at a brunette dressed to the nines. “Are you interviewing to?” she asks with a toss of her hair. “I… yeah,” even to my ears it sounds hollow, flat. “Oh well. Do I need to fill one of those out?” her voice dances about the room filling me with dread. I nod thickly feeling the resistance in my brain. The brunet scoops up a board and drops majestically onto the other couch. I may as well leave now. The thought embraces me nearly suffocating me in its grip. I prepare to heave myself from the couch. I will let the inner demon win. Hell, she always does. No point in lying to myself.

The office door opens and a girl much the same as I proceeds the interviewer out. Two small hands clasp and they share a quick farewell. I sit my breath caught in my throat waiting to be sent home. “Well it’s your turn darlin’,” I hop from my perch and follow her into the office. “Have a seat! So I am going to start by telling you that I am new to this. So you’re going to have to forgive me for reading off notes,” she drops into a seat behind her desk rolling it forward. Perching above her desk she reads from a paper taped to the desk. I watch in wonder as her lips move silently. Is she more worried than I am? “Anyway my name is Sarah,” she reaches out with her words. I clasp her hand giving a firm shake. Trying to radiate the confidence I don’t feel. “Chantae,” I reply the corner of my mouth twitching. Sarah begins to read aloud from her script telling me all about the Kirby opportunity. “Kirby Vaccum sales the experience of a lifetime,” I listen carefully. Her voice starts and stops almost hiccuping over the words as she cuts in and out like a bad radio station. I know I’m going to fail. It grabs me and won't let go no matter how hard I try to shake it.

I respond when she asks me questions. I copy her chipper voice like a parrot. Knowing that I am nothing more than a hollow imitation. But she smiles at me a twinkle in her eyes. I must be doing something right. I only half listen to the remainder of the interview. The battle in my brain has become all-consuming. Crushing bitter darkness pushing the light down trying to extinguish me. But the more her eyes sparkle, and her arms become noodles of animation, I feel the light inside bite at the dark. I feed myself into it. Clawing, making the light stronger. For the first time in months, I tell the monster to shut up. I can get this job. I can do it! “Alrighty, Chantae I have a few more interviews but I will call you later today,” Sarah beams at me. I knew I would find a way to mess this up. I am never going to hear from her. We walk to the door, I am holding on to my positive facade` like a lifeboat in rapids. We exchange a goodbye similar to the one I had witnessed, then leave the building.

I pull out of the parking lot looking at my most recent train wreck in the rearview mirror. I should have stayed in bed today. I run down everything I should have done differently. Knowing that my chance was blown. I will just add this to my list of failures. I miss my bed. I pull to a stop looking at the red light anger at another obstacle. The screen on my phone lights up, the factory jingle filling the empty space in my car. My eyes flash around. No cops. May as well. I glance at the unfamiliar number my stomach dropping to fall out below me. Probably another bill collector. Like I need this right now.

I press the dancing green phone on the screen to stop its mocking of me. “Uh… hello,” I query preparing to hang up the instantly. “Hey Chantae! It’s Sarah. I know you just left but I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any questions,” her voice blares from my phone. The chipperness of her tone pushes she back into the interview. “Oh hey, Sarah. No, I don’t have any questions. You covered everything I can think of,” I reply noting that my voice doesn’t sound false. “Great, I was worried since I'm so new. I have some good news for you. You’re hired,” Sarah’s voice is filled with more joy than I feel. “Thank you, Sarah. I won't let you down. So you said earlier that the work day starts at 8. What day do I start?” Is my voice trembling? I blink rapidly to clear my vision. The light turns green and I press the gas. “I would like you here tomorrow a little before eight. All you need is a pen, paper, and a positive attitude. Have a good night Chantae I will see you tomorrow,” Sarah replies. “Thanks again Sarah have a great night. See you tomorrow,” my voice has become firm a hand releases my heart from an iron grip. Maybe I’m not such a failure after all.


About the Creator

Chantae Harding

Time to be honest and cut the crap. I love to write! I always have. I lost that for a while. I am here to grow, learn, and experience my own writing process. If you don't like my writing that's ok. I'm still learning.

Enjoyed the story?
Support the Creator.

Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.

Subscribe For FreePledge Your Support

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights


There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

    Chantae HardingWritten by Chantae Harding

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.