“So, Matt, why are you here?”
“I need help,” I said for the hundredth time. After waiting for an appointment for almost an hour, I had finally been seen. It was now 12PM. I had two hours before I had to go, and so far, I wasn’t getting anywhere.
“Is that so? So, why do you need help?”
“I hurt people.” I bluntly replied
“How?” the psychiatrist said as he scribbled into his note pad.
“I hit people, I say bad things that I don’t mean. It’s uncontrollable. I really want to fix it, but I don’t know how. That’s-“
“Why you came here? So we could sort you out. Well, I can’t do that without a legal gardian or parent’s permission, unless you are over 18.”
“I’m 18.”
“I don’t believe you.” The psychiatrist said, matter of factly, “besides, you have a 15-17 oyster card on you.”
“How do you know?” I gasped.
“Well, it’s poking out of your pocket.” He chuckled.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry Matt, there is nothing I can do.”
“Can’t you at least tell me what’s wrong with me?”
“I can’t do that without having a full check up, but you have to be...”
“Over 18 or with my parents’ permission,” I muttered, finishing off his sentence. This wasn’t good. This was terrible. My mum would kill me. Unless...
“Can I have the application, please?” I asked, politely.
“Yes, of course.” He said, before handing me a sheet full of empty boxes and questions. “Please, next time, book an appointment before coming here. It makes life easier. “
“Okay, sir. I guess I’ll leave,” I finished, before leaving the room. I stormed out of the building and pushed the paper in my pocket. This was going to be hard.
--
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