little victories

I wear my wireless earbuds and leather boots on the subway. I look

good enough, but I lie to my boss about where I go after work. Not

home, not to an unspecified doctor’s appointment—how vague!— but

to a building on 58th to get my brain magnetized

in hopes that it’ll cure my depression. Will it? I tell myself it will.

I tell myself to be patient, it’s only been one week of magnets

stimulating my prefrontal cortex with electrical pulses. I can

expect a change after three weeks, the psychiatrist says. But

depression is about celebrating the little victories, so I take myself

on a date to the two-story Taco Bell on Lex after my first week of

treatment is done. It’s not yet noon. There is still time today to

live más and wear my wireless earbuds and leather boots on the

subway and look good enough.