I just got home from the doctors. I had been worried that they might strip me and check for cuts or something, but they didn't. The doctor took me into this little padded office room with cushioned chairs and books about mental disorders on the shelves. He kept giving me and my dad this huge, fake smile, so big I could see all of his teeth and his gums. He talked to me like I really did belong in a mental institute. Holy shit did I want to punch him.
Everything was professional though; my dad was asked to stay in the room because I'm "underage," so I couldn't really say anything I wanted to. When I was asked if I thought I was an immediate danger to myself all the time, I said no, I think that I would be too scared to actually ever commit. In all honesty, that isn't even close to true. If I were able to, I'd take some pills and end it, but the psychiatrist told my dad to hide all of the pills, blades, and to keep a close eye on me.
I'm being referred to a therapist now. Someone who I'll be able to talk to on a weekly basis about whatever may be on my mind at the time. My dad won't be there, so I'll finally have someone who I can trust, but my only concern is confidentiality. Are they allowed to tell my dad if I tell them that I self harm?
All in all, the doctors appointment went much better than I thought it would, but it did freak me out beyond belief. I've been counting colors all week, digging my fingernails into my thighs, humming under my breath, anything to get my mind off of things. The hysteria has worn off now and I can actually breathe.
**I think that my life isn't that interesting, but I know that this helped me a lot today and when I actually get some readers, I'll start writing some actually good fictional short stories on days where I have nothing really interesting to talk about.**
