Growing up (Get Scared- continued)

Most Uncomfortable Birthday

Nick's pov.

"How are you today, Nicholas?" my therapist, Delilah, asks me, like she has been everytime i've been forced to cone here. Which has been every other day this week, making this the third seccion i've had with her. I've also had to visit a psychiatrist, Dr. Shaun, who has upped my prozac dosage.

Delilah is a kind hearted twenty nine year old, with black hair and blue eyes. Every time I've seen her, she wears a skirt and a nice blouse to match with it. She has some make up on, but it's not cakey. All this, to look fit for the job of a shrink.

I take a second to answer, partly because I don't know how to put my thoughts in to words, but mostly because I don't want to put my thoughts in to words.

"Same as always," I finally say to her. Heavy eye lids and a dull headache remind me I barely slept last night. Or any night since I've been staying at a mental hospital during the nights.

"Do you plan on doing anything to change that?"

"I'm trying, but it just feels like I'm stuck in a routine," I mutter, "wake up wishing I hadn't, hang out with Lloyd and/or Johnny, get home, feel worthless, go to sleep wishing I won't wake up again. But now it's more like, wake up, eat breakfast, go home, go to therapy, go back home and do absolutely nothing then go back to the damn mental hospital so I can start the routine again."

"Have you tried anything to get you out of that routine?" Delilah asks.

I shrug. "I don't have the energy to do anything. Nor am I allowed to because I'm not allowed to walk more than two feet at a time."

"Sounds like you're pretty drained out," she says as she writes something down on her clip board, "You've been coming here for few days now, yet what got you here has been avoided. Do you want to talk about that?"

How I ended up in therapy and with over nights stays

Monday night, I was lying on my bed, wrapped in blankets because I was freezing. I was completely exhausted from it. I kept thinking about everything that happened until now: losing Courtney, getting bullied, cutting myself, starving myself, ending up in the hospital, making everyone get worried. Urges leaked through my skin, spread through veins and took over my hands. All I wanted was to feel like I was in control, and the only way I could think of was to give myself what I deserved. Deep cuts on my chest. 

My mom walked in without knocking.  I had absolutely no time to react. "Nicholas, what are you doing?!"

I swore under my breath. I couldn't think of any excuse for it. My mind was stuck and under pressure because my parents had never caught me before. All I could say was "drawing." I don't know where that came from, but it slipped out.

Then I got a long speech about why self harm is bad as if I didn't already know.

The next day I was informed that I was to spend nights at Clarity, a mental hospital for kids and adolescents so I could get help for suicidal thoughts (which I didn't say I was suicidal, but thanks for assuming) and my eating disorder (which I don't think I have/need help for). Where they would make me eat dinner and breakfast, so I can gain weight again...

"I really don't," I answer.

"You were emitted to Clarity for anorexia and suicidal tendencies," she states, "you sure you don't want to talk about any of that?"

I cringe at the word anorexia. "100 percent sure."

"I don't want to push you into talking about something you're not ready to talk about, but I do believe it would be good for you to open up a little about these topics to someone. It doesn't even have to be me," she explains.