Ten | newtmas

two

    I wake up in the nurses office.

    I don't open my eyes, but instead listen to the hushed voices I recognize as my parents and guidance counselor.

    "-seeming to get worse and worse. I don't know what to do," I can hear my mom say.

    "This could be a good option. I don't know if it'll fix him-"

    "He doesn't need fixing! He's a child, a human being, he doesn't need to be fixed. He just needs help," my mom cuts my dad off.

    "It won't cure him completely, they don't guarantee that. But they certainly can help. I've heard of several success cases," my guidance counselor, Mrs. Marina, says.

    "It just feels like a drastic measure. I don't know. I want whats best for him," my mom says mournfully.

    What're they talking about? More medication? More tests? No, they'd be fine with that. What else can they do? Nothing can fix me. My dad's right. I need to be fixed. But I don't think it's possible.

    "I think we should tame it before it gets any worse. Its scary, as a parent, for your child to go through this. But you have to see it from his point of view," Mrs. Marina says.

    The room falls silent and I decide its a good time to "wake up". Slowly, I sit up. My parents and Mrs. Marina turn to look at me. I rub my eye, discovering my pounding headache. I feel a bandage on my forehead and drop my hand.

    "Newt, sweetie," my mom says, getting up to sit next to me. She rubs my back and examines me. "How are you feeling?" she asks.

    What a dumb question. How do I feel? I feel awful. I feel like a waste of time. I feel like garbage. I feel like my head is about to beat itself in.

    "Fine. Just a little headache," I say. My mom nods, and moves my hair out of my face. I try not to wince.

    "Here, I brought these," she says. Its my medications I take after school plus a pill for my headache. And on the side, three pieces of rice. There are seven pills and three pieces of rice.

    "Thank you," I say, taking all ten of the objects. She hands me a water bottle and I start taking everything.

    We got the rice about three months ago. I usually have six pills in the morning, six after school. The six started bothering me so my mom decided to get me rice to swallow too. This isn't even OCD anymore. This is just... crazy.

    The room is silent till I take everything. Then my dad sighs. Then my mom glares at him. Then Mrs. Marina clears her throat. We all look at her.

    "Should we talk in another room or with Newton?" Mrs. Marina says. My mom looks at me.

    "He has a right to give us his opinion. He's seventeen. He should be in on the conversation," my mom says.

    "What're you guys talking about?" I ask. My slight eavesdropping hadn't cleared anything up for me.

    "We were wondering..." my mom starts, avoiding my eyes and looking at Mrs. Marina and my father.

    "Yeah?" I say.

    "Well theres this place, not too far, that's kind of like a center for kids with what you have. Your age. Just regular kids," my mom says. A center? What does she mean by center?

    "Like an insane asylum?" I ask. My moms eyes widen.

    "No! No, no, not like that at all," she says, waving her hands frantically.

    "Then what is it?" I ask. She hesitates.

    "Its a place where you go to be with other kids like yourself," she says. I don't know how to interpret what shes saying. Like a support group? No, she would've said so. We've already been to one. Then what?

    "Mom, just tell me what it is. For real. No sugar coating," I say.

    "Its like a camp. They help you get... better. Its like-"

    "An asylum?" I say, my tone stinging with hurt and annoyance. I didn't intend for it to sound like this, but I can see a wave of shock come over my moms face.

    "I... Don't think of it that way," she says.

    "But thats what it is, isn't it? You all think I'm crazy. I am. Don't think you're hiding anything from me," I say. I never act out like this, and its scaring me. Obviously its scaring my mother too.

    "Newt..." she says at a loss for words.

    "Newton, we don't think you're crazy. We just want to make sure you're helped so you can get to a point where you're happy," Mrs. Marina says.

    We're all silent for a minute. In an attempt to shut down the idea, I calm down and ask my mom a question.

    "How much money is this? How could we possibly afford it?" I ask.

    "We can afford it. Don't worry, Newtie," she says, using my old nickname. Ugh.

    "So I'd stay overnight? Without you?" I say, hopefully playing on her mama bear side. She nods.

    "Yes. But I can visit as often as I want," she says. This is tough.

    "You'll also make friends. It'll be good for you. Think of it as a camp," Mrs. Marina says.

    "I don't like this," I say quietly to my mom. Its useless.

    "Newt, just try it, please? Its obviously getting worse. I don't know what I can do to help anymore," she says. I close my eyes and lean up against the wall, my head still pounding. My mom and I are sitting on the hard metal bed the nurse has, my guidance counselor and dad at the desk. I look up at the clock. Five. I've been out for three hours? And all because of my silly problems. Am I really this bad?

    "Can I think about it?" I ask. My mom and Mrs. Marina nod. My dad has just remained silent. As usual. "Okay."

    We get home an hour later. My parents let me do my usual ten walks, ten snaps. They just walk ahead of me and let me go at my own pace.

    I don't want to be such a burden anymore.

    We all sit in our living room uncomfortably. There wasn't much conversation in the car. The only effort was from my mother, who asked if my headache had gone away.

    Finally my father stands up. My mother and I snap our head in his directions, expecting him to speak. But of course he doesn't. He walks into the kitchen and leaves my mother and I alone.

    "Newt, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I think its best. Even for just a week," my mom says. I look at her.

    "Mom... I..." I start, trying to find the words to describe how I feel. Truth is, I really don't know how I feel. I guess maybe a rehabilitation center, well, a "mental institution" could help me. No school, no guidance counselors, no worries. It would be like a vacation. Everything decided for me.

    Plus my OCD would be considered average there. I could do my routines in peace. I can't be the worst there is, can I? Yes, going solidifies my non-normalness, but I already knew that. Plus, it would make my mom happy. I'm sure my dad would like to have a break from me.

    "Please just think about-"

    "I'll do it," I say. My mom stops her sentence and stares at me for a moment, before coming to sit next to me. This usually means hugging.

    As if on cue, she reaches out and hugs me. I lean into it.

    "Sweetie I promise this will be good for you," she says into my neck. I bite my lip.

    "Yeah," I say.