No Turning Back (Rewrite)

Chapter 29

Fooling Dr. Guerra wasn't as easy as I thought. Effortlessly, she saw through my white lies and feigned expression. She consistently reminded me that she was in my place once and she knew how to play the psych eval game all too well. While it worked like a charm for her job, it sucked on my end.

I had to be honest, vulnerable, and raw with her. With some of the questions, I had to tear off my mask and show the hideous scars that lay beneath it.

She cringed at the memories of my conversion therapy. At times her mouth would twist into small grimaces or a tiny hint of rage sparked in her green eyes. Even small tears welled in her from some of the mentions of the physical torture I endured at the hands of Dr. Clermont. She couldn't believe my parents was aware of his unorthodox methods and consented to it anyway.

"Do you think your parents meant to hurt you by forcing you to attend these sessions?" She asked softly.

I was laying on the hospital bed, slow tears rolling down my cheeks. I'd never told anyone the details about Dr. Clermont and that God-forsaken camp until now. I knew it'd rip open old wounds and pour salt in them. But, I needed to get out of here. Not for myself, but for the three people who gave a damn about me.

"No," I admitted. "My parents are a lot of things, but they're not violent. They'd never want to hurt me. They just...they wanted to change me, and, in their minds, this was the only way to do so."

"Do you think the experience did change you? Sure, not in the way it was intended, but in other ways?"

"Yes. During sophomore year, after the summer of absolute hell and the other incident, I started some bad habits. I started drinking a lot at parties and hooking up with any other gay boy in my age bracket. My parents didn't know about my endeavors. But I reasoned that most parents aren't supposed to know about those things anyway. If I played my role in public, there was no reason for them to suspect anything."

"What about your mental health? Did you notice any drastic changes there?"

I shrugged. "I've always had anxiety issues. There has always been pressure to keep a perfect image, maintain perfect grades, be a perfect athlete – so I was used to feeling that way. I guess I just became more aware since the panic attacks came more often. I had to find better ways to cope with them."

"Did you ever think you were depressed?"

"No. I'm not sad. I'm not mad. If we're being completely honest, often I don't feel anything. It's like I'm a robot running on autopilot."

"Do you feel that way when you're with your brother? With your best friend? With your boyfriend?"

"When I'm in big groups with them: yes. But when it's just us: no."

"How do you feel, then? With you're with them one-on-one?"

"Happy."

"And how do you feel when you're alone?"

"It depends. Sometimes I'm content and productive. Other times I'm exhausted and emotionally drained."

"I see." She continued scribbling in her notebook. "How do you cope with your panic attacks?"

"Find a quiet place, close my eyes and count to ten. Forwards, then backwards. Take deep breaths with each number."

She looked up in surprise. "Did you come up with that yourself?"

"No. It's something one of my babysitters taught me when I was little. I can't remember exactly what happened, but I was upset and overstimulated, and she practiced that trick with me."