"You're getting better every day"
These are words that I've heard a lot recently. The folks at this rehab seem to think I'm getting better at the dumbest things. Like if I haven't yelled at anyone, 'I must be getting better'. Or if I go to sleep at the time they tell me to, 'I must be getting better'. Or if I do my homework, 'I must be getting better'.
It's all bullshit.
I'm not getting better and I know it. Why should I pretend, huh? It's not like I can get better anyway. How could I? Taking more pills? I'm not meant to take pills because mom thinks I'm an addict. Cleaning my room more often? What the hell would that even do? Doing more yoga? Again, what the hell would that even do?
I hate these rehab places. They cost thousands of dollars just for people to tell me to do yoga and deep breathing. I know that but it just doesn't help. I went to one last year that wasn't too bad. I met this guy called David, he was also in for being angry all the time so we hit it off pretty well. We were close and I actually felt like I could get better but then mom decided that rehab wasn't helping so she moved me to a different one.
I should introduce myself, huh? I'm Connor Murphy. My mom is called Cynthia, my dad is called Larry and my little sister is called Zoey. My mom is a rich woman who had nothing to do with her life (apart from try to fix me). My dad is a hard-worker who thinks I'm an attention seeker (he doesn't spend time with me, never did. I don't care though. I don't like him). Zoey is in band at school and is nice to people. She had lots of friends. She doesn't have any mental problems like I do. Sometimes I wish I was her. Sometimes I wish she was dead. Sometimes I wish I was dead. But that's siblings I guess.
School starts soon. It's senior year so that's something at least. I get to leave this rehab tonight. I guess that's why I decided to write in the first place. I get to leave one hellhole to go to another. Yay. Lucky me. Back to the jeers and shouts and jokes. It'll be worse this year I guarantee it. My hair is long now (so there will be more calls of 'faggot' and 'queer'), my nails are almost always painted black (same as the hair), I'm pretty tall now (6"4, that's taller than most boys in my year. 'Slender man' jokes here I come), my clothes are mostly hoodies and jeans (all black and with boots. School shooter jokes anyone?), I don't have any friends ('loner' etc). So really I'm already counting down the days until it all ends.
Mr Hutchins came to my door at six o'clock to tell me that my mom was here to collect me. I took more time than I needed to finish packing up (I just didn't want to see mom looking at me with her sympathetic, judging eyes before I absolutely had to). When I eventually went to the front office (after receiving a couple of goodbyes from some of the other kids) mom smiled and pulled me in for a hug. My arms remained limp at my sides but she didn't mind, when she let go of me she smiled and thanked Mr Hutchins.
We walked out to the car and mom insisted on helping me put my bags into the trunk of her giant BMW. I don't really care about cars so I don't know much about all that stuff. The only reason I know it's a BMW is that it says so on the front.
We sat in silence for a while. She kept smiling. I kept looking at the road ahead. I have a little private rule for myself. I am never the one to break the silence after I've been picked up from rehab. And I only respond if I think it's an interesting topic. My mom seems to know this but she doesn't mind. I think she likes it this way.
"So how are you feeling?" She asked, looking directly at me, despite driving.
I felt this was a boring question that would lead to a boring talk about whether or not I was still angry all the time. I didn't answer.
"Make any friends?"
Still boring. The answer was obviously no.
"Excited for school?"
Normally she's good at this. Not today.
"It was boring at home without you."
And lo! She gave up on the questions and decided settling into silence was a good thing.
The drive was quiet. The radio played but I didn't really listen to what it was playing. When we got home I took my stuff to my room and mom said we were having a family dinner. Zoey was in her room and didn't come out to meet me. Dad was at work.
Nothing ever changes.
