i remember when my mother first found me, where i was now living.
i was awoken by someone banging on my door and i yelled at them to 'go the fuck away' because i was not in the mood, at all.
"it's your mother! open the door."
my eyes widened and that's when i decided to lay there, until she went away.
"luke, i'm not leaving until i see you!" she yelled through the door and i groaned.
"i don't want to see you!" i yelled back.
"i will stand right here until you answer."
i grumbled and rolled out of bed, failing at the thing called walking.
i threw the door open and walked over to the beaten down couch to sit.
"are you just going to pretend you haven't seen me almost two years?"
"are you going to pretend that you're not the one who put me in the loony bin?" i retorted, quickly.
"you tried to kill yourse-"
"because i was unhappy!" i yelled, my anger getting the best of me. like it always does.
"you can't just kill yourself over spilled milk!" she yelled, equally as angry.
"i hated everything, mother! i hated you, i hated my brothers, i especially hated myself! i was doing myself a favor."
she stood there, silent.
"you know that i wasn't in the right state of mind yet you kept pushing me closer to the edge. and i fell." i droned on.
she remained silent, looking down at the ground like it was more interesting then what i was saying.
"you know what they diagnosed me with in the lunatic hos- maybe i should tell you what they didn't. that'd be shorter." my voice was tense, tight.
"i have anger issues, suicidal thoughts, schizophrenia, depression, anxie-"
"stop. please stop." that's when i noticed she was sobbing.
"leave." my voice got softer, but not by much.
"luke, please. you're my son and-"
"leave!" i yelled and she jumped.
she slowly stood up without a word, waiting to see if i'd stop her.
i didn't.
and she left, hopefully for good.
---
just because i was out of the loony bin didn't mean i had to stop seeing a psychiatrist.
the doctors still thought i had "problems".
i had been seeing this man for over four years, he knew me better then i knew me.
every time i would see him, he would ask the same questions.
"how are you?"
"fine."
"how are you, really?"
"okay."
"what did you do over the week's time?"
"sleep, eat, repeat." was always my answer.
he would then continue to tell me that i needed to get out more, explore the "wonders of the earth" and live a little.
i would then say that, "i hate the earth" and he would shake his head.
when i got there, i sat down and he asked the regular questions.
