I hate this place. It's the only thought running through my busy head as I drop my body down onto the large purple sofa with ugly yellow cushions. For a place that is suppose to help you feel better it makes me damn uncomfortable. How Ironic? The room in which I receive therapy is one of the reasons I need therapy. Not like I even need it; I can sort my own shit out.
"Aimee, look honey it's been four years since we started working with you and for the past two years you've completely ignored everything we've recommended and you won't open up anymore." Kirsty, my therapist explains as I stare at the floor with a very blank look on my face. "And I know you seem to think you don't need help. You seem to think you can pull the independence card and thug it out but we would not be here if you didn't need it."
I can feel her stare everywhere as she analyses my face and my waist and my stomach and my legs, right down to my feet as she notes my body language and flicks her eyes over my choice of clothing.
"Kirsty don't you dare even suggest-" I begin before I'm cut off by a voice that speaks fluent bullshit.
"I think you should go on the anti-depressants. I wouldn't be suggesting it if I thought they weren't necessary. Aimz I know about the voices. Talk to me honey." See? Fluent bullshit.
"I don't want the pills." I remind her "And if there were voices in my head they're in my head for a reason. So only I can hear them. What I'm trying to say is they are none of your business and never will be so when will this fucking place finally understand that it's my head for a reason!" I finish, my voice raised and my breaths shallow.
"You can leave now, Miss Nelson. Thank you for your time." As soon as I hear the word leave, I'm pulling my bag onto my shoulder and I'm walking down the torturous hallway with colourful posters stating "feelings are valid" and "it's okay to not be okay" like please shut the fuck up.
I text for my mum to come and get me while I sit on the curb hugging my knees to my chest. I think about what Kirst said. How I don't open up anymore. I hate the fact she's right. She has always been right and as much as I want the help I'm just scared. I don't want to go in the direction he did.
I've had the question numerous times before asking me why I bottle everything up and the scary thing is there is more than one reason. And the reasons to bottle up my feelings and emotions outweigh the reasons to open up every fucking time.
I don't open up because once people take a peak into my fucked up brain they're going to finally realise I'm crazy and probably a danger to myself and others. They're going to lock me up inside a locked padded room with no connection to the outside world and that shit is not my vibe.
I think another reason I hate opening up is because I'm scared of vulnerability. I've spent years building a "cause no harm, take no shit bitch" exterior and opening up would make me look flat out weak. I would much rather be the party animal, clear headed girl everyone thinks I am so that's the act I put on. I mean, fake it till' you make it right?
I struggle widely with communication and getting my parts and opinions over and I promise I'm trying but sometimes it can cause conflict between my girlfriend and I. I just wish I could properly show her that she means the world to me. I love her more than life itself and she comes above anything. I just wish I could tell her that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm so hard to love and I'm sorry I don't talk to her as openly as she may wish but I promise I'm working on it and it will be better soon. But that's the thing. Communication struggles. And my big fat ego thinks "I'm sorry" is the hardest fucking thing on Earth to say, so.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear a loud beeping noise from across the street. I jump and place an exaggerated hand over my heart. Here comes the acting. My mum is usually someone I'm okay with letting slight vulnerability slide with. For example, if I'm having a hard day or crying all the water in the world, I want my mum there and she is. She's always there. But sometimes I do have to pull some of my actress skills purely for the fact I can't worry her like that. I plaster a smile onto my face as I giggle and make my way over to the car.
"Hey sweetheart, how was it?" she asks as I slide onto the seats and immediately pull out my notepad to brains storm a random novel plot line I've just thought of.
"Crappy like always. I swear mum I don't need her." I'm writing now to stop any of the deep questions piling on because I can't lie to her.
"What happened this time?" She asks almost in a knowing tone as she lets out a frustrated sigh.
"Ma she wants me on the pill." I inform her with a sad voice. I take her thinking time to lift my head and look out of the window next to me. The sky is breath takingly blue and the hills and fields generally just look like a painting. It truly is beautiful.
"Aimee look," Oh god, back to this are we? "You might want to consider actually taking the prescriptio-" I snap my head towards her with wide eyes before she can say anything else.
"no."
"Sweetheart you can't live in fear of what happened to him forever." Her voice softens. Her voice fucking softens.
I'm tired of being treated like I can break at any given moment.
"I said no." I remind her with a cold and clipped tone
"Your way."
Yeah, my fucking way. Those pills are dangerous ground. What if the same thing happens to me? What if I can't stop myself?
Stop, Aimz. Be cool.
"Mia's at home waiting for you." She tells me, obviously hating the awkward silence.
"My bitch!" I shout, giggling.
"Language babe." Mum laughs with me.
See Kirsty? I am fucking capable you ugly whore.
