life is never easy a.i

1

"It feels like a prison that i live in. I feel trapped inside my house, the place i am supposed to call my home. It doesn't feels like home, you know. My parents do what they think is the best for me. They don't realize how unhappy i am. I hate that i am not allowed to do anything. I am so different than they are, i have other needs. I'm not allowed to do the things that make me happy. It hurts, you know. I am a different person but they seem to think that i like everything that they like or that i am supposed to like everything they like." I feel like a fool, a complete lunatic to say these things but it feels good too, to finally get them of my chest.

My therapist nods and writes a few lines on a paper.

"And you know, they are the reason i tried to kill myself, i could never tell them. It would ruin them. But i can't change the fact that it was them. They are holding me back from everything that i want to do. I wanted to be free, i still want to be free. because i never feel free when i'm with them." I say it feels weird to tell this to a stranger. Someone who also has the power to make me take medication or sent me to some mental hospital.

He nods again. I stay silent. Thinking about what he would think of me. It always goes like this, the whole hour i'm talking about how shit my life is and he listens, asks something and that's it. It feels good to have it off my chest but other than that it doesn't help at all.

At first i refused to talk to him, i hated the idea of him knowing everything about me, what i think and.. just everything. He doesn't care about me, he gets paid for listing to me. After some time i just began talking, it would have been stupid if i sat there two times a week just staring at a wall.

"The time is up, i will see you next time" he gives me a smile. I don't smile back. He doesn't care. It's like talking to yourself. I just talk and talk and he writes, i wouldn't even be suprised if he is just doodling and not really writing.

-

"Home!" I yell.

"How was it?" My mom asks me.

"Good" i say and try to walk up the stairs. It wasn't good but she will believe it anyway.

"Why don't you come sit with us, you're always in your room, we never get to see you anymore"

"Mom come on, i don't want to" i say while turning around, i am already halfway up the stairs.

"Please do it for me?"

"Ugh, okay!" I hate company, i'd rather be alone. I stomp off the stairs and take a seat at the couch. I look at my mom and then at my dad. They are both looking at me. There's a long silence and it's uncomfortable.

"What?" I ask finally breaking the silence.

"How are you?" My dad asks me.

"Good" i say. What is this?

"How is school" he asks.

"Same as always" i answer. Since when do they care?

"How was therapy?" He asks.

"Good, why are you asking all this?"

"Your therapist said we need to show more interest." He answers.

Of course, they do not want to know these things, they have to ask it. I thought they finally showed interest in me, i shouldn't think that they suddenly changed, that would be to much to ask.

"Okay, can i go to my room now?" I ask.

"Um, okay" my dad says, like he doesn't understand it hurt what he said.

I run up the stairs, and slam the door of my room shut behind me.

I let myself fall on my bed and cry in my pillow, i make as little noise as possible. I don't want to draw attention to myself.

"Ashton you have to go to school tommorow!" My mom yells from downstaires.

Ugh, i hate my life.