Build God, Then We'll Talk
o2
I wasn't always like this.
Summer. Summer is when it all started and I blame it on my parents. Before their divorce, I had never been a pill-popping, wrist slitting junkie who always got a five finger discount at the local general store. Before mom had up and decided to run away to California and take her precious teenage daughter with her, I had never been scared to be who I was. Before everything turned to shit, I'd like to believe that I once had a perfect life for a teenager.
But let's not get too ahead of ourselves. Sitting here in this office, I feel dirty and betrayed. Beaten and lied to. This isn't my first time being here. I've been coming here for quite sometime now, ever since mom found the bottle of drugs next to the puddle of blood that was pouring from her darling daughter's limp body. But what's a girl supposed to do when everything she's dreamed of goes down the drain, along with everything else she's achieved in life?
In this very office, I was forced to tell a man I hardly knew everything about my life. I had to tell him about the pills, the razor, the screaming, the dreams, the heartbreak. He'd force himself under my skin with his dark eyes and sink down to the bottom of my heart, beating everything out of me as if I were a worthless rag doll. The first day, he promised me that he would never expose my secrets to my mother, the main cause of them, but he did. He betrayed me, and the worst part is he doesn't even understand.
He wasn't there, holding my hand when Jeremy raped me. He wasn't there when Megan forced me to steal that bottle of Jack that led the party where I became addicted to drugs, thanks to Regan and Cole. He wasn't there, lighting up that joint for me, or strapping the thick band around my arm as I loaded the syringe to shoot up heroine. He wasn't there to hide the razor blades from me, or the knife. He was nowhere to be found when I sat in a cold, dark, empty room, dreaming I was dying - which, for all I know, might not have been a dream. But again, we are getting too far ahead of ourselves.
"Mrs. Reed," my therapist, Steven, started.
"Um, Ms. Thorton," she corrected.
"Right, Ms. Thorton," he corrected with a smile. "I've been watching Anna very closely since she's come here. I've put her on medication, I've sent her to one of the top specialists in the country, I've done everything I can, and she's not progressed one ounce since her first day," he explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"What are you saying?" she asked. I stared down at my shoes, rubbing them over each other. I took an awkward glance up at Steven, who looked like he had been experiencing a very long week, considering the dark circles under his dark eyes. I pulled my sweatshirt over my knuckles once again and brushed part of my bang out of my eyes, then gazed back down at the toes of my converse.
"I know this is probably hard for you to understand, but we have to send Anna somewhere she can cope with everything with people who are," he looked at me for a long moment, then looked back to my mom. "Suffering the same way she is."
Suffering the same way I am? What, do you mean my addictions and my cutting? Or are you talking about my constant need to achieve self-fulfillment by taking my own life? Please, Doc, clear things up for me. After all, you have to be slow with a recovering junkie.
"So you're," mom took a breath, bringing fake tears with it. "Putting her away?" she said, a gasp at the end.
Good ol' mom. She was never bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention, oh no. She was the perfect actress. I was never supposed to happen, and everyone knows that. My older sister, Alex, was supposed to be the one and only. Mom didn't chose the role of being the mother of two children, but she sure did play it sincere, putting on an act that would make any audience applaud and demand an encore. She had everyone believing that she wanted me, that she'd do anything for me, and they'd believe everything from the tears and the teeth right down to the blood at her feet.
"Putting it that way makes it seem wrong, Ms. Thorton. We're simply putting her in the Mental Facility for a short time, so we can correct the problems here."
"Problems?" she sobbed.
Give me a break, I thought as I rolled my eyes.
"Ms. Thorton, she slit her wrists. When a child her age does something as drastic as that, there is obviously something wrong," he explained bluntly.
My mother sniffed and stuck her nose up at the doctor. "Fine. What do we have to do?"
"Hang on one moment," he said as he exited the room.
Mom's tears disappeared as mine started. She looked over at me with dark, hateful eyes and slapped me across the face. I felt the sting in my cheek as my head snapped to the side sharply, making me gasp. "Have some composure," she hissed. "It's the least you could do after you have failed me."
Summer. Summer is when it all started and I blame it on my parents. Before their divorce, I had never been a pill-popping, wrist slitting junkie who always got a five finger discount at the local general store. Before mom had up and decided to run away to California and take her precious teenage daughter with her, I had never been scared to be who I was. Before everything turned to shit, I'd like to believe that I once had a perfect life for a teenager.
But let's not get too ahead of ourselves. Sitting here in this office, I feel dirty and betrayed. Beaten and lied to. This isn't my first time being here. I've been coming here for quite sometime now, ever since mom found the bottle of drugs next to the puddle of blood that was pouring from her darling daughter's limp body. But what's a girl supposed to do when everything she's dreamed of goes down the drain, along with everything else she's achieved in life?
In this very office, I was forced to tell a man I hardly knew everything about my life. I had to tell him about the pills, the razor, the screaming, the dreams, the heartbreak. He'd force himself under my skin with his dark eyes and sink down to the bottom of my heart, beating everything out of me as if I were a worthless rag doll. The first day, he promised me that he would never expose my secrets to my mother, the main cause of them, but he did. He betrayed me, and the worst part is he doesn't even understand.
He wasn't there, holding my hand when Jeremy raped me. He wasn't there when Megan forced me to steal that bottle of Jack that led the party where I became addicted to drugs, thanks to Regan and Cole. He wasn't there, lighting up that joint for me, or strapping the thick band around my arm as I loaded the syringe to shoot up heroine. He wasn't there to hide the razor blades from me, or the knife. He was nowhere to be found when I sat in a cold, dark, empty room, dreaming I was dying - which, for all I know, might not have been a dream. But again, we are getting too far ahead of ourselves.
"Mrs. Reed," my therapist, Steven, started.
"Um, Ms. Thorton," she corrected.
"Right, Ms. Thorton," he corrected with a smile. "I've been watching Anna very closely since she's come here. I've put her on medication, I've sent her to one of the top specialists in the country, I've done everything I can, and she's not progressed one ounce since her first day," he explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"What are you saying?" she asked. I stared down at my shoes, rubbing them over each other. I took an awkward glance up at Steven, who looked like he had been experiencing a very long week, considering the dark circles under his dark eyes. I pulled my sweatshirt over my knuckles once again and brushed part of my bang out of my eyes, then gazed back down at the toes of my converse.
"I know this is probably hard for you to understand, but we have to send Anna somewhere she can cope with everything with people who are," he looked at me for a long moment, then looked back to my mom. "Suffering the same way she is."
Suffering the same way I am? What, do you mean my addictions and my cutting? Or are you talking about my constant need to achieve self-fulfillment by taking my own life? Please, Doc, clear things up for me. After all, you have to be slow with a recovering junkie.
"So you're," mom took a breath, bringing fake tears with it. "Putting her away?" she said, a gasp at the end.
Good ol' mom. She was never bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention, oh no. She was the perfect actress. I was never supposed to happen, and everyone knows that. My older sister, Alex, was supposed to be the one and only. Mom didn't chose the role of being the mother of two children, but she sure did play it sincere, putting on an act that would make any audience applaud and demand an encore. She had everyone believing that she wanted me, that she'd do anything for me, and they'd believe everything from the tears and the teeth right down to the blood at her feet.
"Putting it that way makes it seem wrong, Ms. Thorton. We're simply putting her in the Mental Facility for a short time, so we can correct the problems here."
"Problems?" she sobbed.
Give me a break, I thought as I rolled my eyes.
"Ms. Thorton, she slit her wrists. When a child her age does something as drastic as that, there is obviously something wrong," he explained bluntly.
My mother sniffed and stuck her nose up at the doctor. "Fine. What do we have to do?"
"Hang on one moment," he said as he exited the room.
Mom's tears disappeared as mine started. She looked over at me with dark, hateful eyes and slapped me across the face. I felt the sting in my cheek as my head snapped to the side sharply, making me gasp. "Have some composure," she hissed. "It's the least you could do after you have failed me."