I was in the therapist’s office today—a new one who claims her name is Dr. Jiko—and you’ll never believe what she said to me! The nerve of some muggles. The conversation bothered me so much, it just kept replaying it in my head. It’s fascinating how my memory becomes laser-sharp when I want to forget something, but I can’t remember squat when it comes to this form of torture muggles seem to enjoy… calculus. 

Anyway, like all the unsuccessful souls before Dr. Jiko, she couldn’t “cure” me of my “identity crisis.” 

To me, a muggle is not someone who cannot use magic, but someone who doesn’t care for the possibility that there’s something more than what we are taught to believe in. It’s that sense of apathy—that lack of interest in anything other than the uniformity of everyday life—that has me trying to revive Voldemort. Well, okay, maybe not revive. In all honesty, while I do not condone Voldemort’s bloodlust, he knew what he wanted and how he would get it—how far he would need to go, and how many sacrifices he would need to make. Any of that ambition would be better than the dead-fish-eye look of muggles (they’re bland to the point where it should be considered sinful). 

Note to peeping eyes: 

As delirious as I sound, I assure you, dear reader, I have not recently escaped from an insane asylum. Now, put this diary down before my spidey senses start tingling and I find you.

With all these thoughts churning in my mind, I arrived at Dr. Jiko’s office, hoping that this cognitively superior being would be able to put the jumble of emotions I felt into something more than the incoherent, fragmented phrases that escape me whenever I try to explain my thoughts to others. 

Hope crushed. The woman introduced herself like so: “Hello, Poppy. Today, I am Dr. Jiko.” So much for cognitive superiority. She stumbled over a simple introduction with a clumsiness that would have made English teachers blush, as if she didn’t know her own name from one day to the next. She seemed to have caught onto her mistake though.

SUSPICIOUS DR. JIKO: “Good morning, Poppy! It’s nice to meet you!”

When she realized that I wasn’t going to respond, she continued.

QUESTIONABLE THERAPIST JIKO: “Keeping quiet is alright. I understand this must be a new experience.”

ME: As new as the other five therapists, I thought. To my self-pronounced therapist, I only nodded.

DR.(?) JIKO: “Your mother tells me that you are currently going through an identity crisis. That sound about right?”

ME: As right as the sky is pink. I nodded to her once more. I didn’t feel like this therapist (can someone confirm that fact for me?) was going to understand me at all.

LEGALLY LICENSED(?) THERAPIST JIKO: “Tell me what you see when you look at this image.” She passed me a paper with several inkblots.

ME: The default therapist move. A bit early in the game though. I so wanted to answer her with: “Well, if you want me to be literal, I see the results of someone who decided they weren’t fond of pens anymore and did away with the writing tool rather violently. If you want me to be metaphorical, I see a muggle ignorant of the world beyond their comfort zone, content to feast on whatever new form of a heart attack the world has conjured up.” Her reaction would have been worth it. Outwardly though, I only pretended I was in deep thought before shrugging my shoulders as if I were disappointed to come up empty.

AUTHORIZED(?) DR. JIKO: Smiling, she took back the paper without comment and continued with her questioning. The doctor Jiko asked, “What is it about, er, muggles”—I could see her making mental notes to wash her mouth out with soap later—“that has you upset?” 

Of course, I didn’t answer her. I let her wait as long as her psychoanalytical senses advised her to before she would need to ask her next question. While she waited in expectant silence, I pondered her last question.

ME: It’s not them that’s got me upset; it’s the fact that they don’t mind being muggles. I mean, if you could give rise to your wildest dreams, wouldn’t you want to search for that possibility? Instead, the halfwits just walk about, refusing to be anything but grounded. I’ve tried rallying people who shared similar ideas to storm Hogwarts and demand our letter be delivered, but that only got as far as step one: finding people to—

THE LION, THE WITCH, AND THE AUDACITY OF THIS THERAPIST: “What if I told you there was no such thing as Hogwarts and magic or anything of that nature?” She was letting her impatience creep into her words. There have been no known records of…‘muggles’ going to magical schools or witches and wizards using magic. Any form of supernatural activity would’ve made headlines.”

Of course, you would neither see someone walking their pet dragon in Central Park, nor a billboard advertising extendable ears. She looked at me as if I had stolen one too many prescriptions from the local pharmacy. Her condescending tone let me know that I was done listening to any more of her malarkey (she dismissed me, mumbling about soulless eyes—which, to me, was pretty ironic, considering I was clearly the one with the broader perspective on life).

I’ve had enough of therapists. The next time I write, I’ll be in the middle of single-handedly storming Hogwarts… once I find it. Still haven’t given up yet! Keep fighting!

Performance

Process

This started out as a piece that would be centered around a girl ranting about how slow the delivery owls of Hogwarts were. Then it changed to a rant about how unfair it was for fictional characters to go on wild adventures while humans were stuck in offices and classrooms. THEN it changed to a rant about—you get the pattern. Talking about muggles in a sense that looked at more than just their lack of magical powers seemed like a nice mashup of all the previous ideas I had.