Thats Life

Chapter Twenty-Five

One week later

It's finally June. I am so happy the whole month of May is done and over with, hopefully the warm weather can start bringing in happier moments or whatever, but fuck May. June can hopefully be a way to start fresh on a clean slate.

Dean Martin played through the speaker in my room while I picked up and cleaned out absolutely everything. My room is to be completely empty by the end of the day, furniture, clothes, books, shoes, trash. Everything. The therapist at the hospital told the boys that a fresh clean start would be best for me. That I should remove myself from my old life and accept a new beginning. I think its bull shit, because the only thing that cleaning my room is making me feel is irritated and exhausted. I do not have the body strength for this shit.

The hospital therapist came to the room to talk to us and give us some tips and tricks before basically telling me I should spend some time in the psych ward, a week to a month. Which, we all know ends up being the longest possible time. I politely denied her, if anything was going to make me feel worse, I was positive that going to a glorified group home was it.

As we clean, I know they think they have me fooled, that I think they just want me to refresh everything, but I know they want to make sure I don't have anything hidden in here. Its why Will shakes out every book, and pulls out every pocket of my clothing. The reason every piece of furniture is flipped upside down and thoroughly searched. Not sure why they think they are getting away with it. But I don't say anything about it, I don't have the energy to.

"Can't we listen to good music?" Tyson asks.

I drop the trash bag I have in my hand and plop onto the floor with my legs thrown out in front of me. "We can listen to good music, if I can take a nap." I counter.

"You already took a nap." Will states.

We got home two days ago; I'm still trying to figure out exactly how I feel about being back. But I do know, the depression is... different right now. In a way, I'm oddly relieved the attempt didn't work. I don't know how to explain it. I just remember being so scared from the moment I took them, I started rethinking everything... but it was too late by the time I started feeling funky. However, I can't say the depression is gone, just different. I'm so tired all the time; I just don't want to do anything. The good news is, I haven't thought about drugs too much since being back, I think all the puking in the ambulance really put me off for a while. I won't ever forget that ride, it was the worst feeling in my life. I looked down and saw black everywhere, in my fog I thought it was blood which caused me to throw up more. I later found it was some type of black charcoal that they used to force me to throw up, still disgusting though.

"I'm going to go outside for a second then, I need some air." I walked out of my room and grabbed the cigarettes from my pocket before turning back around. When I got back to my room Tyson was already holding the lighter up for me.

"Thanks." I grabbed it and made my way back out the front door.

Tyson is positive that by keeping all the lighters it will help me with... something. What will it help me with? I have no clue, but again, it makes him feel better so why the hell not just go along with it.

I sat down on the front porch step and lit the tip of the cigarette; I watched as the paper continued to burn down. I blew out the smoke and leaned back against the door, at least I'm still aloud to smoke. I thought I was going to get my head chewed off the first time I pulled out the pack yesterday in front of them. No one said anything, just looked at me and then at each other like they weren't sure if this was 'allowed'. It's the weirdest thing to be 21 and still feel like I'm not able to make my own decisions. Though, back in the day when I was able to it didn't get me far so what do I know.