All Because of This (a.i. m.c.)

all because of group therapy ~michael~

group therapy. a terrifying thing if you ask me. i have to sit in a circle with a bunch of other kids and talk about my problems. fuck my life.

i was in the hospital a week before they let me go out and meet the other kids. that in itself was a terrifying thing for me. i only told them my name quietly and then sat at their table to eat the first day. if i was feeling up to leaving my room was the only time i'd grace them with my presence. truth be told, after i had eaten with them that one time, i didn't feel the need to leave my room. i had no one to talk to, but that was okay. i drew things to pass the time.

i wasn't an artist, but the pencil and pen sketches that i had done occupied my time. usually they reflected my thoughts, my feelings, everything i wanted to reflect that i couldn't using my own words. i was drawing again, this time a pencil sketch of an anime girl sitting with her head between her knees, when a knock on my door rang through the silent room.

"yeah?" i asked quietly, giving the person permission to enter my room. i watched as doctor wilson entered my room, a small smile on his lips. he was my psychiatrist, and he was for every other person on my floor.

"hey michael. it's time for group therapy." i looked at the clock and felt myself deflate.

"so it is," i mumbled, getting off of my bed and following him, pulling my sweater over my bandaged arms. they drew more attention to a problem that i wanted to forget about.

we walked through the maze of hallways- another reason i didn't leave my room, i always got lost- leaving the wing of the building that i lived in and proceeding to the psychiatry ward. we entered the room, and i quickly took in my surroundings.

the room was painted a pale yellow, not obnoxiously bright but emitting a soft glow from the walls, lifting my spirits a little. there were a few paintings and drawings on the walls, a few with small pictures of patients underneath them. i instantly had a new goal in my life to get my artwork hung up in here, either a depressing or hopeful picture, i didn't care. i wanted to leave my mark somehow.

i scuffled forward, falling into the nearest empty chair, my fringe hiding my face from view as i, i'll admit, creepily looked at the other patients in the room. a few of them were shifting nervously, and the rest were making small talk with each other. i caught a glimpse of of a scarred wrist, and instantly i started tugging on my sleeves.

"hey, doc," one of the kids next to me greeted, instantly silencing the group.

"hey everybody. seeing that we have three new people here, let's introduce ourselves with our name, age, and preferably the reason you were admitted here, but i won't push you to telling just yet.

"i'll start. i'm doctor dave wilson, i'm thirty-five, i know i'm so old," he added sarcastically, causing everyone either to laugh or smile at least a little bit "and i am your primary psychologist while you're here. you next," he gestured to the kid sitting next to him, who was fidgeting earlier. he had dark hair with a streak of blonde that was pointed up in all different directions to form something that slightly resembled a mohawk with a fringe. he wore dark sneakers but a boot on his left leg that is for a broken ankle or something, black skinnies, a long sleeved grey shirt and a black sling holding up his right arm. he also had a black eye, and i figured he was hiding more bruises underneath his clothing because of his wincing when he repositioned himself in his chair. plus, i could see a little bit of a bruise peaking out of the collar of his shirt nearby his right collar bone.

"i'm jack," he said quietly, "i'm seventeen, and i was admitted the other day from injuries from severe bullying. they also realized that i was depressed and suicidal while i was in the hospital, i said some stuff while high on pain meds, so they've decided to send me here."