Lance Sweets Horrible Past

The Very First Entry

Booth took several deep breaths, debating on whether or not he should really do this. Who was he kidding? He was curious. And it was his curiosity that got him into such sticky messes anyways. But there was really no going back now. he was interested. He opened to the first entry.

This is Doctor Lance Sweets. 

I am not particularly used to really putting my innermost thoughts and feelings in a journal. I had never dared to do so before, in fear that someone unsavory would pick it up and read it. Fortunately for me, my Biological father was finally put away. For a few years at least. Would not surprise me if he got out early. He was always good at that. 

Anyways, today...well today it was my first day of high school. I am twelve and going to high school, advanced program, I know it is weird, but my adoptive parents insisted. 

I don't really know what to think about them. I know they saved me from a potential "fate worse than Death" thing, but to be honest, I have already been through the worse that 'fate' can possibly give me. Maybe in a couple years, fate will be nice enough to throw another curve ball. As if my life is not already riddled with curve balls, and unexpected turn abouts. For instance, I never expected to survive my father's latest beating, and yet I somehow suckily managed to do that.

I guess I have a bit of a 'defeat death' type thing. In all honesty, I should have died hundreds of times by now. Unlucky I guess. Some would say that I am luckier than most kids, I think they are wrong. At the very least those kids don't have to deal with anymore of the fear, or the pain.

The whole idea that I am lucky, lucky to be adopted, lucky to have even survived such a 'horrific beating' as the doctor said, the idea that they are loving and caring. I do not believe it. I do not believe it one second. I suppose I should. After all, they are my new parents. Adopted me, papers and all. I still do not know exactly why they decided to do it. After all, there are plenty of other kids they had to choose from, and yet I was the one that they decided upon. And they offically adopted me. I barely know them. I have lived with them for what? less than three weeks. They know nothing about me, nor I them. The idea that I will love them and be able to trust them now that...

No, that has been broken. My trust has been irrevicolly broken. Perhaps eventually I can grow to trust them, but I doubt that I will be able to trust anyone completely anymore. My trust, my faith, my hope. It is all now in a locked box in my mind. I cannot trust them anymore. 

Funny is it not? Not being able to trust your own mind? My mind plays tricks on me. Sometimes I still see him. Sometimes I hear him whispering the daily orders he would give me. Sort of like automatic. The routine, the beatings, the fear. None of that has gone away. 

Soon enough these new people will get annoyed with me, and I will be gone. They won't have to deal with me for very long. that much I can promise. Once my nightmares return, and the other things...

Well it won't be a very long 'permanent' placement. As if.

I could hear him today. I heard him. He was angry. He always is. Isn't that cruel? Always angry, even in my mind. My dreams, my thoughts on the future. He is always angry. I cannot think of him as anything but angry, probably because he was rarely anything other than angry or frustrated with me. 

School started today though. The lessons were dull, the people predictable. I mean come on? The common slurs as if they were really going to concern me, and get me sobbing alone in my room? Things never really change, and the insults never really get any better or imaginative do they? At least I somehow managed to avoid the bloody jocks. Doubt that will be for very long.

ENTRY TWO

It is fascinating is it not? The cruel tricks and ruthless pain your own mind and memories can cause you?

Only a few months into school, and already it is as if I can feel him breathing down my neck, hear him telling me to be better, do worse, always contradicting, never relief. Which should I do? I suppose there is no hiding my genius. The stupid Temps got me tested. 

On a further note. I have decided to call them Temps. My adoptive parents. Lucky them, I lasted longer than I thought, I suppose that should be interpreted as a good thing right? I mean, I lasted six months now, and no beatings, no verbal abuse, nothing. I am unsure what to do with all of this...niceness. I cannot process it. They asked me when my birthday was. Like they did not already know. I just shrugged because, after all, I was not supposed to know. I actually ended up hacking the hospital records to figure it out. Not that they ever needed to know. Besides, in my experience, it is better to feign ignorance, than to show defiance. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not.

They are getting worried. About me, about something. Though I am not entirely sure WHY they are worried. All I know is that my Psycho Therapy sessions have increased. I suppose they are not happy with the lack of progress. 

But why should I bother trying to progress? I will likely be thrown out again in a few days. Just watch. Besides, it isn't as if I don't know everything the stupid therapist is shoving down my throat. And anyways, what is with the dumb questions? 

Either way, I now have sessions every week again. Alright, maybe I am being heartless a tad here. I did have a panic attack a few days ago. The first in a few weeks, and I had two or was it three??? consecutavily. So I suppose I can understand why they would be concerned. The only thing I do not understand is what their concern is for? I mean, it is not as if I have not dealt with these things before. I am not totally helpless!

On another note, I finally got a bully. Figured it was only a matter of time. I knew it would happen sooner or later. Got locker checked several times over the last week. Bruises to hide once more. Not the the ones I got from my father totally faded. Six months and I still have his marks on me. It makes me feel dirty. I don't know. Doesn't matter really. Does it?

ENTRY THREE

WHAT IS IT WITH THAT STUPID THERAPIST? I hate answering questions when I cannot give the desired answer. Today I walk in like usual, you know, and he asked me how my birthday was. I turned thirteen. I mean, how am I supposed to answer that?!! I would not know! What is the normal answer one would give to that question? What is the desired answer to said question?

The point of the story I suppose is that I was an idiot. Ended up getting a mild panic attack. I always hate not knowing what the necessary answers are. Good grief. at least it was only mild this time. I guess I should be happy bout that. The last time that happened I passed out from lack of avaliable oxygen. I was unable to get the proper amount of oxygen into my lungs, and ergo, passed out from lack of oxygen. I think I may have freaked the doctor out. But. I. Don't. Care. I never wanted to see the man anyways. Sure, I love Psychology. That does not mean I want to BE one! God, I wish he would just shut up and leave me alone to be broken already. Give up, like almost everybody else.

Booth froze and stared at that. Lance did not want to be a psychologist? But...that was precisely what he was now, and he enjoyed it. What changed. From what this book says, he was avidly against becoming a therapist, and now he became the exact thing that he used to hate with a passion? WHAT???? What happened to change his mind? It had to be a big thing. So, what was it?