I Was Just Looking For A Way Out...
Chapter 3
Well it’s been 45 minutes, but here he finally is; the doctor that is. It’s not like I’m lame enough to act like I’ve been ignored and try to play the victim, someone obviously treated the cuts when I came in, my arm is bandaged and they aren't soaked through with blood. I just expected someone to be watching over me or something… I guess I just feel like this should be a bigger deal.
The doctor is pretty young, well young for a doctor anyway, maybe 29 or 30. His ghostly white skin barely stands out against the white lab coat he wears. He stands there and looks at what I can only assume is my chart. For the first time I realize what I’m wearing; one of those weird hospital gowns, which of course isn’t tied in the back so my ass is directly against the diseased examination bed. Sure hope no one came in about herpes… or any other itch or burn for that matter.
“So, Mr. Sherman, I understand you tried to kill yourself?” He says in a calming voice, much to deep for his appearance.
…If he understands why is he asking?
“Uhh…. Yea.” I nervously manage to force myself to stutter.
“So, how’s your home life?” Of course he means do my parents beat me. It’s the first question any shrink asks, I'm assuming it’s all he’ll know with the 20 minute psychiatric crash course he probably got in med school. If you couldn’t tell I’m feeling a bit more confident.
“No, my parents never touched me in a malicious or perverted manner.” I say it coldly. I’m in my element now; I’ve been disrespecting therapists for something like 2 years now.
“I didn’t just mean tha-“, He begins to say, obviously shocked.
“No, of course not. You mean is there anything at home which could have possibly provoked me to want to kill myself. The answer is no. Nor was it anything school related, friend related, and no I’m not having any romantic problems. If your looking for an external factor there isn’t one, it’s all up here.” I say and point to my head; god I sound like a pompous asshole don’t I?
“Well what would you say the problem is?” He says, staying perfectly calm despite my complete lack of respect and horrible new attitude.
“Me.” I say. It's short, it's clear, and above all, it's honest.
“What do you mean?” He questions, and might I add that not once has his voice even come close to changing tone. It's both calming and unnerving... and I don't really know how.
“Lots of stuff. I’m socially awkward, I get nervous in groups any larger then 3 people, if I happen to find myself 2 steps up a ladder I'm in serious danger of pissing myself, if I get to nervous I throw up, I’m smarter then most people I know and I feel like the hugest asshole ever for admitting it, I can’t go 30 seconds without second guessing myself or anything that I do, I know I don’t think like others and although I hate everything that defines me I have a huge fear of loosing that tiny little sense of self, oh and I can’t shut up.” I say it all fast, and without really bothering to breath, so by the time I’m done I’m gasping for air. “Soy una problema gigante.”
You take one year of Spanish and suddenly you’re a badass.
The doctor writes for a couple of extremely awkward minutes, and then looks up at me. He stops for a second, and looks back down. Finally he resolutely looks up and says,
“…I think we better call your parents.”
The doctor is pretty young, well young for a doctor anyway, maybe 29 or 30. His ghostly white skin barely stands out against the white lab coat he wears. He stands there and looks at what I can only assume is my chart. For the first time I realize what I’m wearing; one of those weird hospital gowns, which of course isn’t tied in the back so my ass is directly against the diseased examination bed. Sure hope no one came in about herpes… or any other itch or burn for that matter.
“So, Mr. Sherman, I understand you tried to kill yourself?” He says in a calming voice, much to deep for his appearance.
…If he understands why is he asking?
“Uhh…. Yea.” I nervously manage to force myself to stutter.
“So, how’s your home life?” Of course he means do my parents beat me. It’s the first question any shrink asks, I'm assuming it’s all he’ll know with the 20 minute psychiatric crash course he probably got in med school. If you couldn’t tell I’m feeling a bit more confident.
“No, my parents never touched me in a malicious or perverted manner.” I say it coldly. I’m in my element now; I’ve been disrespecting therapists for something like 2 years now.
“I didn’t just mean tha-“, He begins to say, obviously shocked.
“No, of course not. You mean is there anything at home which could have possibly provoked me to want to kill myself. The answer is no. Nor was it anything school related, friend related, and no I’m not having any romantic problems. If your looking for an external factor there isn’t one, it’s all up here.” I say and point to my head; god I sound like a pompous asshole don’t I?
“Well what would you say the problem is?” He says, staying perfectly calm despite my complete lack of respect and horrible new attitude.
“Me.” I say. It's short, it's clear, and above all, it's honest.
“What do you mean?” He questions, and might I add that not once has his voice even come close to changing tone. It's both calming and unnerving... and I don't really know how.
“Lots of stuff. I’m socially awkward, I get nervous in groups any larger then 3 people, if I happen to find myself 2 steps up a ladder I'm in serious danger of pissing myself, if I get to nervous I throw up, I’m smarter then most people I know and I feel like the hugest asshole ever for admitting it, I can’t go 30 seconds without second guessing myself or anything that I do, I know I don’t think like others and although I hate everything that defines me I have a huge fear of loosing that tiny little sense of self, oh and I can’t shut up.” I say it all fast, and without really bothering to breath, so by the time I’m done I’m gasping for air. “Soy una problema gigante.”
You take one year of Spanish and suddenly you’re a badass.
The doctor writes for a couple of extremely awkward minutes, and then looks up at me. He stops for a second, and looks back down. Finally he resolutely looks up and says,
“…I think we better call your parents.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm just a tad bit fucked up haha...I mean this guy O.o
If anyone's reading comments are appreciated!!!