115 Questions

Question #114

When will someone believe me?

My mom thought I was depressed. I tried to reassure her that I wasn't. Well she didn't believe me and put me in therapy. I hated therapy. But most of all, I hated my therapist.

Her happy, cheery demeanor made me want to barf. Her room always smelled like cinnamon and apples. Her fingers were always painted this bright cherry red and on her finger, was a bright engagement ring.

I hardly spoke in my brief time I had with her. The fifth time I saw her was the last. It was a Sunday and my mom dropped me off on her way to work.

I remember walking into her office and having an almost immediate headache from a mixture of her perfume and the air freshener.

"Hey Samantha! How's your day been?"

I roll my eyes as she turns away to get some papers from her perfect neat filing cabinet.

"It's just Sam," I mumble.

"Okay! So, we've made some progress since your first visit, I suppose."

"I would hardly call it progress," I remark. She fluffs her brown hair and pretends to not have heard me.

"Okay! So, your mom tells me that your depressed. And-"

"I'm not depressed."

"Well that's-"

I bang my fist on her desk, causing her to jump a little. "I am NOT depressed. When will someone actually believe me?"

"I'm trying Samantha, but-"

"Shut up for once! I am not depressed. I'm fine, okay? If anything, my mother is the depressed one." I push my chair back into her book case and stand up. "And you know what? Go fuck yourself because I know your fiancée won't," I snarl at her.

I turn one last time to look at her. Her face is streaked with tears. "And it's SAM."

She probably says something about how I shouldn't say those words. Especially on a Sunday. I might be condemned to hell. I wouldn't mind. I'm going there anyways.

I walked all the way home from that office. They called my mom of course. She was pissed. She didn't even scream or yell at me. She was just in shock and never took me back to therapy.

In all honesty, I know that what I said was wrong. And that I probably should've gone back and apologized or something like that. But I didn't.

Instead of therapy, my mom thought for some reason that going back to school would be good for me. I don't know where in her crazed mind she got that stupid idea from. But it was either that or therapy. And I chose school.