LIVING IS NOT AN ART

Chapter 8

April 22, 2013

Sometimes the night becomes your best friend.

—Aren't you going to say anything Michael? —Sigmund asks me for the second time, who keeps writing the same old nonsense with his fine pen, takes a quick look at the patient and determines what no one can see in the character demonstrated by thought.

—No Sigmund, I will not tell you because I feel bad....

—It's been more than a week since Ana left, shouldn't you be better?

—Shout up —The mere mention of her hurts me, I shouldn't get upset, but it hurts too much, I don't know where I am and this stupid person is planning to make me go into crisis, he wants to put me on trial— I know what you are trying to do Sigmund but stop playing games and now tell me the reason for this consultation.

—As you wish; you know you've been here for a long time, in case you haven't noticed, most of your classmates have already left, do you know why? —I had noticed that before, but I didn't care, everything was easier to bear when Justin and Ana were here, but now I'm on my own, I don't feel hungry anymore, I prefer to be in the dormitory crying or looking out the window while I make a map of Ana's last steps in the institution and behind me Justin's farewell, did they ever think about how that would affect me? Of course they did, but they never thought about what they should do, I know that people don't have a duty to anyone, I would like to believe that I am important to them at this moment, but it is very difficult without knowing anything about them —all that I can keep in my mind, where no one will know how I feel— I clench my fists while I turn my cold and melancholic look to Sigmund.

—I know... you can get to the point at once.

—Your father has shown up, he brought an order from the judge to see you tomorrow, he'll be here early.

So my idiot father showed up and he's not a madman like mom once mentioned, does anyone else want to bury a sword in me? Because apparently life brings me more misery.

Justin is in a clinic resting or is probably already at home recovering.

Ana left without saying goodbye and to my bad luck or stupid life I couldn't say goodbye to her because we were fighting.

And now my father decides to show up after all my years of life in which he was never present; now I understand what that blood sample was for.

—Are you feeling well? —the question is really stupid coming from Sigmund, I look at him with horror, I try to appear calm, although in reality it is as if I were on fire.

—No Sigmund, I don't feel good, my life sucks and you try to give me tools to solve my problems, is it fair that I'm going through so many bad things, and everyone is pressuring me to change or forgive? That's what happens, now, if you are going to give me a lecture, better save it, I'm going to my room, and I don't want anyone to bother me.

Giving orders is not my thing and much less am I in the position to do it, I just want an empty place to cry.

My throat hurts from holding back so much crying, I get to the door of my room half dizzy, I enter without even closing it, I throw myself in the corner of suffering, the place where all my sorrows are calmed with more bitterness or until I fall asleep, you do not know how hard it is to remember the times when you were abused, the times when your mother preferred a stranger instead of her own son, the time when someone in your family beat you until you bled because they felt like it, the time when your drunken grandfather beat someone you thought you loved, and if that wasn't enough, to see how they kill someone who is not to blame for anything, is it fair to go through so much and be judged for how I am?