Darling You'll be Okay

We've All Been There Sometimes

Sam's POV:

*next day*

I am being assessed. The only thought running through my mind as these people speak to me, or study me. As if I were some sort of specimen or bacteria under a microscope.
I am to attend group0 therapy sessions once a day, along with one-on-one counseling and another form of therapy which after my assessments, they will determine and assign to me.
I am led into a room where a nice, young looking lady sits. It looks like a counsellor's office, except there is a cupboard full of art supplies and a fold out table in the corner.
"Hi Sam, I'm Miss David, your counsellor," she says kindly, extending her hand for me to shake. I take it and she motions for me to sit down. She's nothing like Mrs Grey. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a messy bun and her glasses, not unlike mine, sit where they are supposed to. She also doesn't wear her Sunday best - jeans and a nice shirt. I like her already.
"I understand you're probably feeling very overwhelmed by everything Sam," she says kindly and I give her a shy nod.
"Well then I'll start off really easy okay? What do you like to do for fun?" she smiles and my eyes drift to the art supplies cupboard. She follows my eyes and smiles.
"Art?" she asks and I turn back to her, nodding furiously. She grins.
"Awesome! I like art too!" she says and I beam at her.
"What do you like the most about art?" she asks and I think for a moment before answering.
"How I can express myself. How it just feels so free. Like music. I've grown up around musicians and music and art are such creative outlets for me. I can be myself in my artwork," I add and she smiles at me.
"I think we might do art therapy with you then," she smiles and I raise my eyebrows in confusion. She chuckles, going over to the art cupboard and taking out a blank-paged journal, handing it to me.
"It's an art journal. You can write, bullet points, paragraphs or even just one word. I want you to draw, paint, collage, anything you want. I want you to use that to describe how you're feeling. How you're feeling right now, how you felt when you said goodbye to your family, etcetera, etcetera. You can use anything in the cupboard okay? Go wild, use up as much space as you need but not the whole thing because we're going to use that journal a lot okay?" she says and I nod, smiling.
I go over to the cupboard and get out the watercolour paints and an ink pen. I just use blue, black and light brown watercolor for the shapes and once it's dry I quickly sketch Vic over the light brown. Then me over the blue.
'Today I said goodbye to Vic. It was one of the the hardest things I have ever had to do. I just feel so alone.' I write, curving the 'alone' around the blue 'me' who is bundled up on the floor. I flip the page and get out acrylic paint, randomly squirting it onto the page and swirling the different colours around with my fingers. I paint me at the bottom in black, then just write "words" in varying sizes across the swirling colours. I must say, this is definitely relaxing me, getting everything out onto the paper.
Once I finish, Miss David wants me to talk her through what I did. The first one was when I said goodbye to Vic and the second one is what I feel now. Swirling confusion with a lot of words. We talk some more and I like her. We don't talk about depression or why I feel the way I do. She asks me about Vic and what my favourite colour is and just little things like that. Getting to know me first before we start to talk about serious stuff.

Kate decides to give me a tour in free time. She shows me the music therapy room. There's nobody there apart from a kind-looking old lady who smiles at us as we walk in. She lets us use the instruments and I immediately plug in an electric guitar and tune it. I try and re-create how effortlessly Tony and Vic move their fingers over the fretboard. Playing something.
Anything.
I end up playing random snippets from various songs. Therapy. The Calm. Bulls in The Bronx.
I look up from playing to see Kate looking at me with her mouth agape. Miss David has also come in while I was playing. She stands by the old lady, who introduced herself as Mrs Potts. She does music therapy. I just ignore everyone looking at me and go back to playing. Creating riffs and playing various songs I have learned and been taught over the years.
I start to play Purified. Alan and Phil taught me how to play it one day while I was at the studio and it's one of my all time favourites to play.
The feeling of the electric's strings under my fingertips and the sound reverbing around the room, encasing me, is surreal. I haven't played guitar in such a long time and I've forgotten how good it feels to be so lost in playing. I am surrounded in the sound.
I stop playing to find myself with an audience. Kate, Miss David, Mrs Potts and three other patients who I am yet to meet. They all look at me with awe as I set the guitar down.
I'm starting to get uncomfortable with all the attention and I feel my cheeks heating up as me and Kate thank Mrs Potts and head out of the music therapy room. She beams at me when we get outside.
"Sam that was amazing!" she exclaims and I blush, smiling.
"Thanks," I reply quietly. I turn my head and my eyes meet his. He's got dark hair which hangs in bangs over his dark eyes which watch me, silently. His eyes remind me of mine, withdrawn, sad, but with a dark sort of beautiful.
I know him.
I feel like I'm in a movie. I tell Kate I'll meet up with her later and she nods, noticing my gaze. Her talking fades and everything slows down as I walk over to him. He looks up at me when I get there.
"Sam?" he whispers.
"Jacob?" I reply. He nods and motions to a chair across from him. He sits in the back of my maths, English and art classes. A "nobody" people would say. Someone who is virtually invisible. Someone who if you asked about him, people would say "who?" and be all confused. I know him though. I've never spoken to him, but I know who he is.
"You know my name?" he asks, disbelieving. I nod.
"You make the best paintings in art," I whisper and he cracks a small smile.
"I thought yours were the best though," he smirks and I roll my eyes, smiling.
"However they are a little too bright for me," he says and I smile. His are all very dark and greyscale with one other colour, usually red. The teacher doesn't really pay much notice other than "use more colour!" It's what I like about his work though. It's honest.
"Yes, well I apparently use bright colours to mask the deep, dark meanings behind my paintings," I say and he smiles. There's a moment of silence before he takes a deep breath.
"What are you doing here? Of all people, why you?" he asks quietly.
"Depression, self harm, anxiety. Half of it caused by school and the other half, people who have died," I whisper, looking down at my hands. His hands gently reach over to mine and I let him push up my sleeves to expose the cuts. I hear him inhale sharply.
"You shouldn't have to go through that," he whispers sadly. I nod, a tear streaming down my cheek.
"I know," I breathe.
"No, Sam, it's not okay. You're the most beautiful person at school. You have no right to be going through this. Bad things always happen to the best people," he whispers. I look up at him with tears streaming down my face. He smiles at me before brushing away my tears.
"What are you in for?" I whisper.
"Depression mostly," he says.
"I got admitted after I was found half-dead on the bathroom floor, pill bottle empty," he chuckles darkly.
"I've never seen my mother so upset. And when they said they were going to admit me here, she cried so much. She didn't want them to take me away from her, yet she knew I would get better here," he says. I nod.
"I know how that feels," I whisper, thinking of Vic. I take a deep breath in.
"But don't feel like suicide's the answer. It's not. Believe me, I tried. It gets better," I whisper and he looks at me.
"You attempted too?" he asks and I nod.
"Almost a year after my parents died. I was twelve. My best friend walked in on me and stopped me just as I was about to swallow a crap-ton of pills," I say, giving a huff of a laugh.
"I made him a promise that night, and I've kept it," I whisper. He nods.
"I'm glad you did."

*later*

In my group therapy sessions, I recognize one of the girls who saw me in the music room. Jo, her name is. Jacob's here as well and he smiles at me when I sit down. Since I'm new, Mr James, our group therapist, who looks like he could be in his early twenties, introduces me. He's pretty chill and I don't mind group as long as I don't talk. Jo mentions me, and how hearing me play some of those songs made her feel true joy again. Mr James questions me about music and how it makes me feel. I just shrug and he goes into a spiel of how having hobbies are good for us and how having something that we enjoy can be really therapeutic. I just study the other five kids in my group.
One girl has mild schizophrenia; Jacob and most of them, like me, have depression; Jo and another boy end up having eating disorders and another boy has anxiety too. It's a funny mix but I don't feel judged when I speak, which is a first. They all just nod their heads and understand.

I meet up with Kate on our way back to our room. She asks me how group went and I smile. I tell her it went well and she grins.

The next day we talk about home and school and she quizzes me on Jacob. I tell her a lot and it's nice to finally have a girl friend who understands. Not that the guys aren't great, it's just that sometimes I need a girl to talk to.

I talk to Miss David again and she starts me on some medication.

It's funny how after a few days, I'm already starting to feel better.

I wake up and nurse Annabel makes sure I take my meds before going to the cafeteria to grab breakfast. Kate's still not up and there are a few other people in the cafeteria, including Jacob. He smiles at me when I sit down across from him at the table.
"Mornin'," he says and I smile.
"Hey."
"How did you sleep?"
"Pretty good. Those depression meds make me pretty tired," I say and he chuckles.
"Yeah, they tend to do that," he smiles. I start to eat breakfast. Just toast. I'm not really into eating in the morning. I'm not usually that hungry.
"When do you get out?" he asks and I scan my brain.
"All going well, two or three more weeks. I'm only supposed to be in here for a month but they said depending on how I'm going, it will either be longer or shorter. At the moment they're thinking shorter. How about you?" I say.
"Another month. Depending. I probably won't go back to school for another few months," he says and I nod.
"Yeah. I don't think Vic will have a problem with me staying home for a little bit," I say and he nods. Me and him had a long chat the other day and I told him about Vic and my parents and he told me about his parent's divorce and how his little sister died when he was seven and she was three. Tore his family apart, he said.
"Yeah, I guess it's no use going back to the very thing that got you into this mess in the first place," he says and I nod before a very tired-looking Kate sits down next to me.
"Morning Kate," I smile.
"Morning," she yawns as she leans her head on my shoulder.
"I'm so sleepy," she says softly and I smile, leaning my head on hers.

Vic's POV:

It's odd not having Sam here. The hospital called to say that she was slowly getting better which I guess is good.
The house just seems smaller in a way. We leave for tour in half an hour. Just waiting for the bus to get here so we can start loading up. I guess it will distract us a little.
Tony's sitting on his suitcase, staring off into space, glasses on. I go and sit down on the couch, across from him. We don't say anything. Just sit.
"I just miss her y'know?" He says, breaking the silence and I nod.
"Yeah. The hospital called and said that she's doing well, so she might come home slightly earlier," I say. He smiles.
"Is it selfish to want her back so badly when you know she's getting better, and getting help?" He asks and I shrug.
"I guess that's how she feels when we're away on tour. Always wanting us to be here but she knows that we're helping people by doing something that we love," I say and he nods.
"I guess you're right," he says softly.