What You're Not | ✔

07. This Is Weird

"I'm really proud of you for doing this," Mom said, pulling out of the hug with a smile on her face. "Talking about what happened will be good for you. It'll be a weight off your shoulders."

She seemed so sure about that. Like telling a room of complete strangers about how sad I was feeling would somehow make me feel better. It all seemed like a waste of time to me.

I kept those comments to myself. After the stunt I pulled yesterday, I felt I should do something to show her I was serious about making a change in my life.

So, despite every inch of me wanting to stay in bed all day, I told Mom I was ready for counseling. Being her over-emotional self, she cried, going into Proud Mama Mode on steroids.

I looked up at the plain, beige building as the feeling of dread enclosed me. Westbrook Wellness was spelled out across the top in big red, glossy letters. It sounded more like a gym or yoga studio than a mental health center.

Also, the fact that this place was wedged between a beauty supply and a dollar store made me even more skeptical about it.

"I'll pick up at four," she told me.

Focusing my attention back to her, I nodded. "Okay," I mumbled, opening the car door. Before my foot even touched the pavement Mom pulled me back into another hug.

"I love you," she hummed, squeezing me tightly.

"I love you too, " I said, trying to wiggle free. "But you're strangling me."

She finally let go and I was able to breathe. Once I was out of the car, I waved to her as I watched her drive away.

The inside of the building didn't match the outside. While the outside was drab and boring, the inside was bright and colorful. Clearly designed to make younger kids feel less anxious.

The mural of happy animals on a playground that was painted on the wall wasn't working on me, though. Maybe because it was being blocked by a couple of kids my age who looked as unhappy to be there as I felt.

"Hello." The receptionist smiled as I approached the desk. "How may I help you?"

"I'm here for the grief group," I told her.

She nodded, placing a clip board on the desk in front of me. "Sign in here," she said, cheerfully. "And the group is meeting in room five. Go down the hall, make a left and the grief group is the first door on the left."

The room was easy to find. The hard part was actually going in. The decision was only made harder when the glowing, green exit sign caught my eye.

Naturally, I wanted to run, but my mother's broken face from yesterday burned in my brain. I never wanted to cause her that pain again. If sitting in a circle and talking about my feelings would prevent that from happening, maybe I should go in.

Or I could throw some more dirt on top of it, burying it and hoping it never resurfaced again.

Before I knew it, I was pushing the heavy metal door open. The slight October breeze hit my face as I stepped out, letting the door close behind me. Pulling my beanie down further to cover my ears, I started to walk. I didn't know where I was heading, I just didn't want to be near the Westbrook Wellness Center.

My tour of the town came to an end when I reached the infamous June's. It was a barn-themed restaurant with cow print on the seats and chicken shaped salt and pepper shakers.

It was cute, but not where I expected people from school to hang out.

At that moment the diner had only a few patrons inside, while the bulk of the customers opted for the drive-through.