The Eldritch Trials

Chapter 9: How not to get involuntarily hospitalized

Mac

I think about the kiss all night and am so vacant over breakfast my mother contemplates not sending me to school at all.
"I'm fine, really-," I argue as she reluctantly hands me lunch things.
"You shouldn't go to training tonight. What were you thinking—dueling?"
"I don't know. I don't think before I act."
"I noticed," she says, kissing my cheek, "Now try not over do it? You're already sick."
"I won't," I mean I probably am going to. I debate telling her Gale was sick last night then decide it's kind of irrelevant. He's probably fine. Also it would only worry her when we don't have any real information.
Gale texts me that he won't be at school and then doesn't reply when I ask if he's all right, so that's not great. I ditch Ozzie at her first class, hunt down Jade, and tow her into the nearest girl's restroom.
"What was wrong with Gale last night?" I ask, blocking the door and folding my arms.
Jade sighs, putting her hands to her face, "You can't let him know I told you."
"I won't. My major talents are being pretty and very good at lying—,"
"You're a terrible liar, but we'll go on—,"
"I am not!"
"You kind of are—,"
"You don't even know that! You've never seen me try to lie—,"
"Don't have to; we're skipping it—,"
"Kissing you was terrible," I say, looking directly into her eyes.
She steps forward and kisses me, much more strongly than last time, and I lean into her, putting my hand on the small of her back.
"Liar," she whispers.
"Mmhmm, but wasn't I convincing?" I ask, past her lips.
"No, not at all—god why'd you do this to me?" She asks, clearly annoyed, stepping back. I'm still reeling from the kiss (it was that sort of kiss) so I don't move or react.
"Where were we?" I ask, thinking about kissing her again.
"Gale," she growls.
"Gale—what happened last night?" I ask, "Because now, he's not in school now and he was perfectly fine when I left him. With you."
Jade sighs, "Look, look at me, you cannot let him know I told you. He doesn't want people to know—,"
"Fine, what?" I sigh.
"I think—he has depression, he was making jokes about dying," she sighs.
"We all do that. We're teenagers in a near uninhabitable word. The pacific islands are sinking. Capitalism has destroyed what was left of our society, it's unlikely the current economic climate will right itself, we're on the bring of a zombie out break—,"
"No, not like that—I questioned him about it, he's downright suicidal.  He thinks about killing himself," Jade sighs.
"What?" I say.
"Yes, I walked him home—told him to tell his mother to take him to a doctor, she is this morning," Jade sighs.
"Damn," I sigh. He is always quiet but—why wouldn't he tell me?
"It's not your fault, he didn't want to tell me either but I guessed, he needs help, and medication," Jade says.
"How did you guess?" I'm supposed to be his best friend.
"I've seen people with a death wish before," she sighs.
"Right, past lives, got it," I sigh, checking my phone.
"Just be there for him? And hope it all goes okay," she says.
"Do you think they—are they going to hospitalize him?" I know they do that like a lot for mental illness.
"Possibly not if he just admits his depression and plays it cool, they may just put him on medication, but he'll be out of school for a while," Jade guesses.
"Right, he can do that," this is fine. We'll all be here for him. We won't let him hurt himself.

Gale

Play it cool. This is fine. You can do this. Just play it cool.
"I'll be right out here," my mother says, smiling but I can see the nervousness behind her eyes. The doctor's office is swank and shiny, no doubt one of the finest head doctor's at my mother's disposal. I keep looking around like I'm committing insurance fraud or something and expecting to be spotted going to a head doctor.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I smile a little, before following the nurse back. Deep breaths. This is okay. You can do it. Just tell the truth. But not so much truth they put you in a straight jacket.
A nurse leads me back to a doctor who is waiting in a private office with neutral colors and abstract paintings.
"Do you have thoughts of harming yourself?"
"Yes, every day," I say, shifting in the leather arm chair.
"Do you feel hopeless?"
"Yes, every day."
"Do you make plans to take your own life?"
"Yes, every day."
"How—often do you have these thoughts?"
"Depends on the day, usually like, every hour maybe every fifteen minutes, depends on if I'm being mildly inconvenienced or embarrassed or something upsetting is happening. Even if nothing is happening it's just usually there like 'hey might as well kill myself, got nothing else going on'."
"Okay then. Do you plan on acting on these thoughts?"
"If I don't die saving the world, yeah," I shrug, "Can you not—give me pills or something to make it better?" A couple of hours on the internet assured me he could.
"We can but—it's very serious that you are planning to take your own life as you say."
"Yeah I do know—that's why I'm here," I say, nodding, "Um—I don't—my parents can't know I don't want them to worry. I know there's something wrong with me."
"It's very common at your age to feel that way. Have you tried non pharmaceutical ways of coping with these thoughts? Do you have friends at school?"
"Yeah," I frown.
"Well it's easy for teenagers to slip into these sorts of —unproductive thoughts—before we go to something significant like drugs, you should try immersing yourself in life more. Do you have a girlfriend?" He asks.
"Getting a girlfriend isn't going to make me less likely to slit my own wrists. I don't want a girlfriend, I don't need one. My dad has knives at the house—I've hidden some in my room so that when I get the mind I can cut my veins open—is that not big enough of an issue to think about maybe medication?" I ask, hopefully. I take out a knife from my pocket and put it to my throat, "I really want to —"
"Okay, put that down."
"No amount of hanging out with my friends or motivation quotes is doing it I so want to especially because of this conversation it's really a struggle not to does that make my feelings more clear?" I ask, putting away the blade, "I won't, that's why I'm here, but I truly feel like it. Make sense to you?"
So it does make sense apparently but it does not help my situation.
The doctor sort of mumbles a few more things and then leaves. Well. That didn't go well. I so want to be dead.