Page 21 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
“Sorry for ruining it for you. I’ve done it something like thirty times, and it’s always ‘happy.’ Happy, happy, happy. But I’m not. I’ve stopped going to work because whatever I do disappears overnight, so I just have to repeat it. What’s the point?”
I can tell that Dr. Connelly doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m depressed and delusional, even when I mention having found someone else who’s experiencing the same thing. In fact, that seems to make her think I’m more delusional. She gives me a referral to a psychiatrist.
“How long will this take?” I ask.
“A while—”
“You don’t understand. I have to see someone today because tomorrow—my tomorrow, which will be June twentieth again—you’ll have forgotten all about this and the referral won’t have been made.”
“If you think you’re a danger to yourself,” she says, “go to the ER.”
Instead, I head home. I’m not feeling optimistic about what would happen if I went to the hospital, to be honest. I’ve read articles about how the healthcare system is overwhelmed and close to its breaking point; I ought to be grateful my doctor was able to see me today, even if nothing came of it.
Not in the mood to watch moreHouse, I scroll through the contacts on my phone and stop at my sister’s name. Madisonand I aren’t close. Whereas I got a degree and started working in the same field—well, it took five months to find a job, but I managed it eventually—she switched majors four times, schools once, and has never worked at the same place for more than eight months.
Her lack of stability stresses me out.
She’s also struggled with her mental health more than I ever have, and I know she’s sought help, but nothing seems to work—at least not well. Right now, she’s living with her boyfriend and working at a tutoring center.
I feel like I understand what she’s gone through more than I ever have before.
ME: How long does a referral to a psychiatrist usually take?
MADISON: hahahaha
MADISON: Months. Maybe a year. It’s a mess.
MADISON: Wait. Are you asking for yourself?
ME: yeah
A minute later, I get a call, which is weird because Madison hates talking on the phone.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“I. Um. I’m living the same day over and over.” As proof, I tell her about the news stories that will break later in the day.
Amazingly, she believes me, without waiting to see if my predictions come true.
“You wouldn’t make something like this up,” she says, “and I can hear the desperation in your voice. How long has this been happening to you?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to lose track. Thirty days, maybe?”
“Do you go to the office?” she asks.
“No.”
“See, this is how I know you’re not lying. You wouldn’t stop going to work otherwise.”
“You once said I’d work through the apocalypse.”
“I don’t remember that, but it sounds like something I’d say.”
I tell Madison about my attempts to get out of the loop. About my failed efforts to engineer a meet cute at the bubble tea shop. It feels like the tension that has long existed between us isn’t there anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Sorry?” Maybe it’s my imagination, but there’s an edge in her voice now.
