The Gorko Gazette

Squeeze

Every six months or so I have a mare and need the help of mental health services. I just need to get referred by my GP to the next stage, so I can see a specialist at a mental health clinic.

I knew the way as I had been there many times before. I looked forward to seeing the fish in the big tank. There’s something relaxing about watching fish. Maybe that’s why they put it there.

We all sat facing the fish, along with the addicts queuing up to get their free shot of methadone.

I noticed that everyone coming out of the Doctor’s room came out with a smile on their face and were rapidly squeezing brightly coloured squeezy balls in their hands.

Even the addicts were coming out with a squeezy ball. Happy as hell with a packet of tablets and squeezing a squeezy ball for all it was worth.

I went in for my ten minute review and guess what at the end I was offered a squeezy ball of my own to squeeze.

The Doctor told me, ‘What colour would you like? We’ve got them all. But it doesn’t matter really, all the balls are equally squeezy and will take your mind off your stresses and strains.’

But I turned it down. The doctor was flabbergasted. The receptionist was annoyed. The people waiting for the next appointment were fuming. The addicts were enraged. Where is his squeezy ball? they all asked, perplexed. How can he be happy if he doesn’t have a squeezy ball to squeeze?

Over the next few weeks I saw people around town all happily squeezing their balls.

And it was surprising the type of people squeezing balls.

The butcher, the baker and the bus driver.

The dentist, the postie and the window cleaner, all squeezing away.

And I seemed to be the only one in town who didn’t have a squeezy ball to squeeze.

Everywhere I went I came across smiling people furiously squeezing their balls.

People came up to me and pleaded with me to change my mind and give those balls a squeeze.

My neighbours stopped talking to me. For they too had their squeezy balls that they proudly paraded and cleaned on a Sunday.

Even my wife was squeezing balls merrily every day.

But I was stubborn. I couldn’t see how squeezing those balls would drive my demons away.

Everyone I met had a sullen stony grimace. The reason  was rapidly apparent in their disapproval of my refusal to squeeze my squeezy ball.

I felt their eyes burning into my back.

The entire town was awaiting for me to start squeezing.

The burning question on everyone’s minds, ‘when is he going to start squeezing some balls?’

I was an individualist at heart. I never moved with the crowd but walked on my own. I stood my ground. No, I will not squeeze the ball. Just because everyone else does it is no reason for me to start ball squeezing.

But I found it a struggle to withstand the entire town’s disapproval and was gradually worn down by the local community desire that I availed myself of the pleasures of squeezing

squeezy balls

Finally I relented. I went back to the medical centre and pleaded with the receptionist to let me see a doctor about getting some squeezy balls. She beamed. Another soul saved. You’ll soon be cured, she was thinking.

The doctor welcomed me like a prodigal son and asked which colour I desired.

I said these balls are so fantastic that I want them all. Give me every colour, red, blue, yellow , purple, orange and green. Let me squeeze the hell out of them all.

The doctor told me I had made the right decision. Squeezing those balls will take all your stress away. The NHS has rolled them out on a mass scale and the nation is squeezing its way to well being, health and happiness.

And where before people scowled at me they now smiled as they watched me eagerly squeezing my balls. They were so squishy and squashy.

It felt marvellous.

I got home and started squeezing right away. I was squeezing crazily with wild abandon, I squeezed with both hands as I had a lot of squeezing up to do.

I went to bed  happy and content and dreamt lots of wonderful squeezy dreams.

The following day I eagerly ran out into the street to squeeze some balls, but no one was particularly interested.

In vain I displayed my skill at squeezing balls.

The others scoffed and poured scorn.

‘Paa, squeezy balls are tired and old.’

And they all showed off these new metal objects which with a flick of the thumb would spin round their fingers making a pleasant whizzy sound.

Did you not know that now all the doctors are handing out spinny things to everyone. Research has proved that the way to improve well being outcomes and sanity is to spin the spinny things.

 In disgust I threw my squeezy balls away and I got on the phone to my GP and begged them to up my sertraline.

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About the artist

Simon is a writer from England. He seeks stillness and solitude.

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