Hemorrhage.

We had been sitting here for five minutes and she still hadn’t said a word. I hadn’t either, but that was expected. She was just kind of looking at me, her eyes on my face. I refused to look at her. I kept my gaze focused on my hands.

Even though my mood had been considerably higher lately, I did not feel like talking to her. Dr. Meyers wasn’t someone I wanted to share my happiness with, especially since I knew that somehow she would find a way to crush my mood. She was like that.

She couldn’t leave a good thing alone.

“Emelie, I’ve been doing some thinking lately,” she started, and I almost wanted to roll my eyes. Almost, but then that would show that I was listening to her, and I couldn’t have that happen. “For the sake of your treatment, I think that you’d do better if you were placed in group therapy.”

Group therapy? What the fuck was group therapy?

She continued. “What that means is, you’ll be in a group of people in similar situations, and you will all interact and do exercises to help you overcome this obstacle together.”

This obstacle? Was that what it was? An obstacle? My life was an obstacle?

Well, then. I guess that made things easier, once you categorized it and everything. Except not really, because it wasn’t a fucking obstacle. It was a problem.

Except I didn’t tell anyone that, because I didn’t believe that.

Even though I did.

Fuck. Where did my train of thought go?

“Are you interested in doing that, Emelie?”

No. I’m not interested in doing anything that has the word ‘therapy’ in it. Thanks.

“I really do think that this would be beneficial for you, Emelie. It might help if you can relate to people just like you.”

There is no one ‘just like me’. Everyone person is different and all that. Besides, I don’t want to talk to anyone that would willingly go to therapy.

“I’ve referred you to a group that meets on Mondays and Fridays at the local rec center. I’ve given your mother all of the information, and she’s already been informed of the change. Really, Emelie, there’s nothing you can do about this. This will be your last session. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Yes. I’d like to tell you that group therapy won’t help me. Nothing will help me. This is who I am now. I starve myself and I put quarters in my pockets when I step on the scale. I haven’t taken a warm shower in over a year and I haven’t had three meals in a day for longer than that. That doesn’t bother me, though. This is who I am. Why can’t people accept me for who I am? Why is everyone always trying to change me?

Instead, I settled on a force out, “No.”

Dr. Meyers almost rolled her eyes, but then she nodded. “Okay, then, Emelie. I hope that group therapy works out for you. Maybe they will get you to open up, since I obviously can’t.”

Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch this would be better. Except probably not.

I nodded at her, and stood up quickly, hitching my tote bag up on my shoulder. Dr. Meyers looked like she was going to say something else, but I didn’t give her the time. I marched out of the room, slamming the door behind me (except it wasn’t one of those ones that slammed, because it had that straining thing that caught it and made it close softly) and made my way passed the receptionist, to the parking lot.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned it on, because Dr. Meyers had come up with this stupid ‘no distractions’ policy that meant we had to turn our phones off before we sat down and started the session. I thought it was stupid, but I also thought that most of the things Dr. Meyers did were stupid.

Maybe she was just stupid.

I had two unread messages on my phone. I hesitated before opening them, because I knew what was going to be inside. I had to brace myself for messages like the ones that came lately. They were harsher; crueler than usual.

The first one was from my unknown sender - “I don’t understand how John can hang out with such a disgusting, dirty slut.”

They almost didn’t phase me anymore. Almost being the key word, though. Especially now that they concerned John. It was like the person sending them knew that John knew about the messages - knew that he would probably grab my phone when I wasn’t looking and read everything sent. It was a little heartbreaking, honestly.

A little puzzling, too.

I wanted to know who was sending the messages. Was it someone that I knew? Was it someone that I had hurt?

I just didn’t understand how someone could send something like that without any remorse, unless I deserved it. Who thought that I deserved it?

The second one was from John. He had become one of my regular text message senders, too, sending me cute little things everyday. We were getting closer, and that scared me and made me happy at the exact same time.

What was going to happen with us?

Were we going to become best friends? It was weird, though, because it wasn’t until now that I started looking at John romantically. I knew that it would probably never happen - I was not the type of girl that John went for, after all - but it was like I saw him in a different light now. Everything he did just seemed to have a little extra meaning behind it.

I hope you’re having an amazing day, darling. <3 - J-dog.

He had put that under his name in the phone for some weird reason. He had laughed when I asked him about it, brushing it off as some inside joke. I didn’t really question it.

I was about to reply to his text when my phone vibrated once again.

Wanna come over today? There’s someone I want you to meet. :D - J-dog.

Sure.