Status: Weekly updates - planning a rewrite for the earlier chapters soon
Wilted
Aloe Vera
I was waiting by the door when my brother knocked on it the next morning, opening it as soon as I heard the first tap.
“I’m ready!” I said, a false grin on my face. Is anyone ever really ready for psychologists?
“Makes a change.” Xander responded, moving out of the way so I could leave my apartment and lock up. “You feeling okay?”
I shrugged, “As okay as I can be.”
“Just be honest and nothing will change. They won’t take your benefits away and they won’t change your meds.” Xander said as we walked, a desperate attempt to comfort me I’m sure. He always saw straight through my attempts at strength.
* * *
My psychologist was a Mrs. Green, late 40’s, greying and desperately bored with life. She showed almost as much disinterest in the world as me. But unlike me, she chose to continue to function in it.
I sat opposite her as she quickly skimmed her notes, my life condensed down to a few A4 pages.
“How are you coping with your medication?” She asked as she reached the final page, eyes not looking up.
“Okay, I guess.” I mumbled.
She looked up at me, “You’re not taking it, are you?”
I sighed and shrugged. “I don’t like taking medication. I don’t feel unwell.”
“You’re not unwell. You suffer from mental illness, it’s not the same.”
“Tomato, Tomata” I replied dismissively.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, myself playing with the sleeves of my jumper and Mrs. Green staring intently at me.
“Do you want something?” I finally snapped. Why do I always snap?
She smiled weakly, “You have to try, you know that. Has Alexander been helping you?”
“Xander,” I corrected, “Doesn’t quite get the full picture.”
“No-one will get the full picture if you don’t sit down and paint it for them.”
“Does that poetic mumbo jumbo usually work?”
“I don’t know, does it?”
I frowned and crossed my arms. “No.”
“Then we’ll find something that works.” She looked towards her computer screen and began typing. I began picking at my chipping nail polish.
“Strange.” She muttered after a moment, “Why was the CBT cancelled so quickly? You were showing a positive response.”
“I relapsed.”
“Why?” She flicked through the pages of notes again, her brow creasing in concern. “There’s no records. It just stops for two months.”
"Those were the dark days." I responded with a smile.
“I’m ready!” I said, a false grin on my face. Is anyone ever really ready for psychologists?
“Makes a change.” Xander responded, moving out of the way so I could leave my apartment and lock up. “You feeling okay?”
I shrugged, “As okay as I can be.”
“Just be honest and nothing will change. They won’t take your benefits away and they won’t change your meds.” Xander said as we walked, a desperate attempt to comfort me I’m sure. He always saw straight through my attempts at strength.
* * *
My psychologist was a Mrs. Green, late 40’s, greying and desperately bored with life. She showed almost as much disinterest in the world as me. But unlike me, she chose to continue to function in it.
I sat opposite her as she quickly skimmed her notes, my life condensed down to a few A4 pages.
“How are you coping with your medication?” She asked as she reached the final page, eyes not looking up.
“Okay, I guess.” I mumbled.
She looked up at me, “You’re not taking it, are you?”
I sighed and shrugged. “I don’t like taking medication. I don’t feel unwell.”
“You’re not unwell. You suffer from mental illness, it’s not the same.”
“Tomato, Tomata” I replied dismissively.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, myself playing with the sleeves of my jumper and Mrs. Green staring intently at me.
“Do you want something?” I finally snapped. Why do I always snap?
She smiled weakly, “You have to try, you know that. Has Alexander been helping you?”
“Xander,” I corrected, “Doesn’t quite get the full picture.”
“No-one will get the full picture if you don’t sit down and paint it for them.”
“Does that poetic mumbo jumbo usually work?”
“I don’t know, does it?”
I frowned and crossed my arms. “No.”
“Then we’ll find something that works.” She looked towards her computer screen and began typing. I began picking at my chipping nail polish.
“Strange.” She muttered after a moment, “Why was the CBT cancelled so quickly? You were showing a positive response.”
“I relapsed.”
“Why?” She flicked through the pages of notes again, her brow creasing in concern. “There’s no records. It just stops for two months.”
"Those were the dark days." I responded with a smile.
♠ ♠ ♠
think i need to up the age rating now.