Oceans Crossed and Lessons Learned

"I'm not going to that fucking shrink!" I scream at the top of my lungs.
"You have to." my mother says pathetically. I do feel sorry for her having to put up with me when I'm, shall I say, not well.
"No! Because they're going to put me on goddamn anti-depressants!"
"You don't have to take pills, just go see the psychologist." she pleads.
"I don't need help!" I'm the one saying it and even I know its not true, "I'm fine!"

I storm off into my room and sit in my closet. I open my old schoolbag and pull out a clear 40oz bottle.

Here's to professional help.

I twist off the cap and take a swig.

I didn't used to like vodka. The fact that it smelt like rubbing alcohol even after diluting it in soda wasn't too comforting. Now it gives me a temporary sense of wellness.

I stare at the metal cap infatuated with the ridges from where it broke from the seal. I put the bottle down on the ground an run my index finger over the jagged edge of the cap. I pause a moment before thrusting the glimmering cap against my arm.

I hiss but I don't stop.

I'm just another stupid teenager with issues up the ass.

After a few moments of twisting the cap against my forearm I pull it away.

Hmm, no blood.

I run my fingers over the indentations in my skin. Its beautiful almost. I recap the bottle and put it away before climbing out of my closet.

I slowly pull open my door and scan the house.
"I just don't know what to do, she's only getting worse," my mother's voice bellows throughout the house, probably on the phone, "She's coming home drunk and high."

Drunk, yes. High, no. Its not so bad, I've only come home drunk a couple of times, even then I wasn't completely shit-faced.

"She said she's thought about suicide." she cries.

I should have never let that slip. Damn my angry rants.

"She hasn't been eating well either."

Okay, so I skip a few meals. What of it?

"I'm getting really worried about her." she pauses, "I think she's fallen in with a bad crowd." I step quietly down the hall and pick up the phone. I cup my hand over the mouth piece and put it to my ear.

"Well I'll talk to Monique about it but I have no problem taking her for the summer." Its my uncle's voice, "Maybe a change in scenery will help. And you know I rule my house with an iron fist."
"I'll talk to Phil about it." my mother sighs, "God know we won't be able to keep an eye on her this summer."

I pull the phone away from my face and stare at it. She can't seriously be thinking about sending me to France for the summer.