Underage, A Dan Smith Love Story

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six: Therapy

Some people just can't handle pressure. That's kind of an understatement in my case. I sat in front of a therapist, or as I like to call them, shrinks. We've been sitting, staring at each other, for each session I've had during the three days I've been here. Every session David starts by asking me why I've tried to kill myself. Every session, I don't respond. The lads' absence struck me hard, so I've been more upset and depressed than usual. It was now my fourth session, my shrink wanted to up our time to twice a day. He hasn't spoken yet, our hour session started 45 minutes ago.
"Why did you try ending your life?" he asked. I gave him a hard glare.
"Suicide is the act of intentionally causing one's own death. Suicide is often carried out as a result of despair, the cause of which is frequently attributed to a mental disorder such as depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, borderline personality disorder, alcoholism, or drug abuse," I stated. David raised an eyebrow.
"Your point Ms Shea?" he asked.
"My boyfriend is out on tour right now with his band, my tour, my freaking tour. And I'm stuck here talking to what? Someone who's never been sad in his entire life? Someone who's daddy probably paid his way through university? What makes you so qualified to ask me why I tried killing myself?" I asked.
"I like helping people," he replied. "Oh, you like helping people? Tell me how asking me one question and then making me sit for an hour is helping me!" I shouted. He handed me a piece of paper from his clipboard. It was a schedule, with notes. For two weeks straight he had written,
"Ask why, be patient, let her come to you."
"You're two weeks ahead of schedule Ms Shea," David said. I threw it back to him.
"You don't know me," I snapped.
"You're right, I don't, but I do know of you. You're mother died when you were young, you grew up on a sheep farm just outside of London, you have a horse named Arial, a cat named Nala, you're dating Dan Smith, your best friend is Kyle Simmons and an old friend from grade school, you've tried offing yourself-."
"Stop," I interrupted, but he continued,
"On two separate occasions, once by drowning the other by overdose, you've just recently released an album, your EP went double platinum. Am I missing anything?" he asked.
"Shut up!" I screamed, standing from the chair I sat in. "Where'd you get all that, fucking Wikipedia?" I asked. He kept silent, and then my orderly came to get me. Before I left, I made it clearly how I felt by reminding him to, "Go fuck yourself." Which of course got me sent to my room the rest of the night.

The lad's have been on touring for about three weeks now, I've been in the hospital about the same. Therapy hasn't gotten much better. David is the worst shrink in the world. Since the first time we talked, three times a day I sit in his office refusing to speak. Right now I was being led towards his office. When my orderly opened the door Kyle sat on a chair next to the one I usually sit in.
"Kyle?" I asked as the orderly shut the door. He stood up and hugged me.
"He was talking to me about your progress, he says you're doing great!" Kyle exclaimed.
"Doing great? I waste three hours of my day in here because he can only ask me one question. Go ahead David, ask!" I shouted.
"Why did you try to end your life?" he asked. "Oh my god! Why can't you just say it?" I asked.
"Arabella?" Kyle asked, giving me a look.
"I fucking tried killing myself! Why can't you say it? Ask me again!" I demanded.
"Why did you try to kill yourself?" he asked. Those words stabbed me in the gut, now I knew why he said it the way he did.
"Mr Simmons it was nice talking to you, tell Mr Smith what I told you, it's going great. Kyle nodded, shook David's hand, hugged me, kissed my cheek, and then left.
"What the hell was that?" I asked.
"He came in to tell me that Bastille was extending their tour for another month, and that they had a day off. He said Dan didn't want to see you in here, like this, so he sent Kyle," David replied. I took my seat.
"Ask me again," I demanded.
"Why did you try kill-."
"Not like that," I interrupted. His face softened.
"Why did you try ending your life?" he asked again.
"You want the truth? I don't know. Most people have reasons, drugs, alcohol, divorce, bad breakup, whatever, but I don't know. There is a voice in my head that won't stop telling me to kill myself. It's telling me I'm worthless, stupid, unnecessary to any human existence. It also doesn't help that I'm probably going to lose my label, which wouldn't be a bad thing," I replied.
"Why wouldn't it be a bad thing?" he asked.
"It's so much pressure. Even if you guys fixed me or whatever, the pressure and stress of recording, performing, touring, none of this is going to matter. It'll all take its toll, and I'll be back to where I was when I got here," I explained. My orderly walked in, and it was time to go. I stood up, and left the room.

My orderly came into my room,
"You have a visitor." I stood up and followed him to the recreational room where I saw Dan sitting at a table. I froze. My orderly turned to look at me.
"What's wrong?" he asked. I didn't speak, or move, or blink, or breathe. My orderly tried getting me to move, I wouldn't budge. He radioed something to his buddies, and a couple came running. A few orderly's surrounded me now, along with David, and a nurse.
"Arabella, look at me," David said. I couldn't take my eyes off of Dan, he hadn't even noticed I was here.
"She's not breathing," the nurse said.
"Arabella you have to breathe," David said. It had been a whole two minutes, we stood there, when Dan finally turned his head and saw me. I was surrounded by people who were trying to help me. He looked over at just the right time, because as soon as he made eye contact with me, I fainted.