Echo Creek Mental Institution

Chapter 19: You Can't Live Without Surviving

I started to panic. I'd heard they watched everything but I have no idea how much they noticed. Maybe they noticed everything. How much can people notice about you? How much do they care? I couldn't even tell you.
I walked into the office to see a woman with puffy brown hair and bright green eyes. She didn't wear a coat, just a loose yellow shirt and a green skirt, cool edging on all of it. Her office was covered in inspirational things like "Stay Strong!" and "Whatever you're doing is working! (I know this cause you're still here)" and a pointless bookshelf and three separate couches and a coffee table with tissues and coffee rings on the wood.
"Please, Star." She gestures. "Sit wherever you feel comfortable."
I sit directly across from her, in the center of the couch. I didn't want to be under any of the 5 lamps she had on every side table, don't they shine those on people to get them to talk in Cop Shows? I never got that.
"Uh what happened to my other therapist?" I ask, my voice cracking as I sit up straight in the seat.
"You saw another therapist?" She raises an eyebrow at me. I shrug, to which she smiles and says, "No you saw our psychiatrist. She was just a first day evaluation but because you don't have a psychologist on the outside I was assigned to you."
I try to say "Oh" but my voice catches and I end up not saying anything audibly so I just let it go.
"Anyways my name is Angie and I'm your new Therapist." She smiles at me and I smile back. "However if you don't believe we are a good fit then you have complete control over who you talk to. I would be happy to either find you another doctor either in or out of the hospital. How does that sound?"
I nod. "Fine."
"Okay good." She shifts her spot but I remain unmoving. I feel paralyzed and scared and vulnerable. Kill me.
"So, Star," she pulls a clipboard out of nowhere, "It is Star, right?"
"Uh yeah it is."
"Okay cool." She adjusts her seating again and uncrosses her legs and recrosses them. "I'm here for you, is there anything you want to talk about?"
Well, Angie there is. Overlooking the mess I am now, I would like to know what hope I have for the future. I mean, clearly my life goal isn't gonna happen. I mean what are the odds that me, the most unlucky person ever, has the serendipity to be selected to have my own tv show and even that sounds boring. But let's imagine I do succeed, shall we? Monday to Friday I'd have to wake up at 7 am and get in a car. Which, I mean, I could crash and kill anyone in any moment in because of any stupid decision I make but let's let that thought slide for now and continue on our original thought process. I'd drive, tired and drinking coffee even if I hate the taste because everyone else does and I'm t i r e d. I get to work, supposed to be fun, right? Fun script room shenanigans? Panels and cons and promo nights? False. Just another day of sitting in front of a computer answer emails. People will come up to me asking me questions and I'll have to give them answers which I definitely don't have. Id have to go out to lunch with people and I'd have to eat with them and they'd sit there half grossed out by how I basically just slobber through a bunch of food. And then I'd have to pitch ideas and deal with them getting shot down without crying and then I'd be at the office until 8 or 9 because I have so much to do and then I'd go home and probably not eat dinner and not fall asleep until 2 am because that's what I do then I'd have to wake up and do it all over again. And that's suggesting my life goes well. If it goes how I expect it's wake up at 7 all alone in my own apartment. Sitting in bed for an hour debating on weather or not this is the day I finally get hit by a car and I get ready, terrified I'm dressed wrong and then I cross streets without looking and then I get to work and sit in a cubical for hours and then I eat a sandwich cause that's all I could muster to make in the morning because I'm tired and then I work more and then I attend a meeting and wait hours trying my hardest not to doodle and space out and then be put on the spot then back to the office and then type more and then go home and wait and wait to fall asleep and cry because my life is failing and I can barely manage to get out of bed in the morning again and every day is the same.
Everyday is the same.
I mean, I know how this feels I had an internship once that was only three days a week and I faked being sick a week into it because I couldn't handle how boring and terrifying it was. I mean I can't believe that could be my life, boring and tiring and normal and mundane and just the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over-
Oh god my stomach is basically gone and I feel hollow. I need money to live but I can't live without a job which is necessary to get food and water and shelter and that means I need to survive. You can't live without surviving and I need a job to survive. And it'll be boring and I'll never be able to go out and do what I want. I'm trapped. I didn't ask to be born but I also don't wanna upset people by dying so I wanna just not exist. But I'm not gonna be able to do that so I'll go living day to day slowly dying in the inside until the enviable end and I'll have accomplished nothing and yeah. That's my life.
That's gonna be my only life. And there's no changing that.

I look into Angie's green eyes and I say. "I dunno... I mean like... what do people usually start with?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Well let's talk about your family."

I WILL MOST LIKELY DELETE THIS CHAPTER BUT ITS 2 AM AND THIS IS WHATS KEEPING ME AWAKE AND I NEED TO WRITE IT DOWN. ANYWAYS MY PROBLEMS HAVE NOW BEGAN TO CORRUPT THE FEW STABLE THINGS IVE HAD SO RIP NOW IM NOT EATING OR SLEEPING WELL AND I THINK IM ALLERGIC TO MY BEDROOM BUT THATS A SEPARATE PROBLEM.

LOL GNIGHT EVERYONE
WOLFIE