Faded

When I get back into my room, I close the door tight. Pepper is laying on my bed, sleeping soundly and rumbling a little bit. And I feel a little more at peace with her rhythmic rumble, a silent sort of noise that lulls me into a calm. Maybe it's because the sound is coming from the most treasured thing in my life. Maybe because Pepper just has that effect.
I sit on the floor, my back against the bed, and do calming exercises like my therapist at school taught me. See, the teachers noticed that I wasn't interacting with the other students, so I got a therapist/counselor. She had me make up a mantra, which I'm supposed to chant to myself in my head. "I am a strong, lovable person. I am a strong, lovable person." She thinks I have abandonment issues. I don't think they're my issues, I think they're my mom and brother's.
Sometimes, I wonder if she actually enjoys her job. Does she actually want to help me, or is she doing it because she gets paid? Does she actually care?
Probably not.
And I grab the paper clip
--and I hold my breath
--and I put it to my skin
--and I cut cleanly down
--and Pepper wakes up
--and my mom is still crying
--and my brother is still on the couch, ignoring the pain
--and I'm here. Feeling the pain for all of us.