Faking Reality- Jian

Kian's POV

This can't be happening. This honestly cannot be happening. She can't of found them. What the hell was she doing in there anyways? What the hell was she doing going through my deep and dark possessions? What the hell was she thinking? I can't fucken do this. I can't sit in another counselling room with the counsellor wanting me to talk and to explain. I just can't do that again and again because it's not going to help. Fuck. I am as stuck as I was and I really need to find an escape. I need to find a reason to leave. And I need a reason to run. Run away from this hell of a place because I know that I am no longer safe here and I am no longer needed by my family. I need to find my escape.

Before you ask what happened, I will break it down for you. As you know, I already have depression and anxiety and I am a closeted gay. But this was a lot worse. What happened was my mother had been cleaning my room which seems civil enough until she came across my dark box where for your information, I kept the pills, the knife and the note I wrote in case of a suicide attempt. She completely broke down and instead of telling my drunk ass father, she rung the school and now I am sitting in a stupid counselling room with everyone looking at me like I am a diseased and fucked up mess. Yes I had pills and a knife and wrote a note but I wouldn't actually use them useless I honestly got incredibly depressed and really needed to actually utilize them. But no one really understands me as I try to explain that. Everyone is trying to make up my mind for me and decide what is best for me without my input. It really actually feels like I don't exist and I honestly don't matter in the decision of my life and what to do. I've honestly zoned out but I can hear small details of "hospital" and "clinically depressed" and "really needs help". I know what they mean. They mean that they want to lock me up in a depressing hell hole where other mental people go because I am too insane and "depressed" to live in a real reality. I honestly am going to run because I need to because I just can't do that. I can't be sent to a depressing hospital where everyone is more mental than me. I am ready to run. As I begin to run, all I can think of is that this is finally it. I am finally going to escape and I am finally going to be free away from my parents. And all I can think of is the note and how that is the last memory of me. That note that predicts the day I die because I finally gave in. That note that will hold the fragile reminder of who I really was. It was at this moment that I knew I needed to run.