Ten | newtmas

twenty nine

The next week and a half is a lot of the same thing every day.

In my meeting with Janson, he informed me that he decided I shouldn't have contact with my parents. I protested, of course, but to no avail. The calmness on his face while he looked at my fuming one and explained how I was wrong for needing to talk to them was enough to make me want to punch him. I didn't, but picturing it helped me through the rest of it.

He also asked all the questions I'd predicted he would, and I explained that I didn't move from the car because it all happened too fast. Well, turns out mental patients aren't the most trusted in this area, because it was about the equivalent of a five year old telling their parents it was their dog that drew on the walls. As many times as I insisted my story was true, it didn't work.

My therapy sessions since then have been awkward. He asks how I feel about my parents divorce, and I cry or stare at him coldly. I told him I'd cooperate, but when I look at him, the defiance in me flares up. Maybe I'm getting it from Thomas.

Speaking of him, we never continued our conversation. I was slightly eager to, seeing as he made me tell him about Alby and then never told me why. We've seen a lot of each other since then, but he never brings it up, so neither do I. Sometimes we hang out in the rec room, others he'll just go back to his room.

As expected, a lot of the conversation at meals is on the subject of the lawsuit. They got letters from a lawyer today, and they're all scheduled to talk to them soon. All of them seem nervous, especially Chuck. But the good news is that they most likely won't have to actually appear in court. They'll probably be used for whatever information they have. Seeing as they're here, they're not exactly reliable.

Thomas doesn't look as worried as he should, but at breakfast and lunch today he seemed especially jittery. I asked him if he was alright, and he looked up from his plate, grinned, and said "of course" as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was a little too forced, but I didn't mention it.

After lunch, Thomas rushed to his room and Chuck offered to wheel me to therapy. I told him I could do it, but he didn't even bother replying. He's been my personal driver around TIMI, and I'm constantly thanking him. That kid is really too good to me.

I went to therapy and it was the usual for the most part. He asks me how I've been dealing with not speaking to my parents, and I tell him that it sucks. Of course, he asks why, and I almost roll my eyes. I tell him I'm worried about them, and he tells me that I may have attachment issues. This whole therapy thing is turning out to be as big of a bust as I thought it would. I know I said I'd try, but clearly it's not paying off. Apparently, now my OCD was caused by loving my parents too much.

Before I left, he told me I was being put on a new medication starting tomorrow 'in light of recent events'. I didn't even react or ask what it is. I'm used to it, and honestly, I don't care.

Now I'm sitting in my room writing in my journal, because that's pretty much all I can handle lately. Almost every moment I'm in here, I'm writing. Chuck's noticed, but he never says anything. I'd feared he would constantly ask what I was writing, but he just lets me continue on doing what I'm doing.

Focusing on something other than my thoughts helps, although technically the journal is about my thoughts. Sometimes I write in third person, and it makes it easier to just pretend I'm not me. Being me makes me feel sick.

Every night, after taking a year to go to sleep, I wake up with anxiety. Every morning I wake up with more anxiety. There's a dull ache in my body all day, and even with the medication, I'm finding it hard not to be depressed. I don't want to be here anymore. I'm not getting better, and being here has only made everything about my life worse. I've got a broken ankle, soon-to-be divorced parents, and all of my OCD to deal with.