Human

oι

Adam

  "Well, this paper has something that it didn't have two weeks ago..," The doctor noted, the glasses on the bridge of his nose sliding down an inch as he looked at me.

I burrowed myself deeper into the reclining chair as I nodded, glancing at the clock that seemed to tick every century or so.

"You do realize how much stress that puts on your mother, don't you?"

Narrowing my eyes, I bit back a sharp-witted reply and simply nodded.

"Are you refusing to talk to me again? You've been going to these sessions without saying a word for weeks now, Adam."

Twitching my lips, I brought my fingers up to my mouth as I habitually chewed on what was left of my nails.

"Chewing on your fingernails? Take a look at them, at what's left.."

I did as he asked and studied my fingers—instead of nails there were jagged edges and dried up blood that outlined the tips.

Just to tickle the doctor's pickle, I decided to say something:

"The cat did it."

He looked me directly in the eye, analyzing me with as much contempt and mockery he could muster.

"You won't get any better if you refuse to cooperate. Your mother pays me a very hefty salary, I could quit today, be unemployed for the rest of my life, and still be okay."

Grinding my teeth together, I locked my jaw and stood up from the chair.

"Then I guess we're done here. You can quit and die tomorrow for all I care and I'll carry on with life the way I have been—worry-free."

"Adam. You aren't going to get any better if you continue this banter. You're an adult and you can't even go into public places without freaking. Look at your fingers—they look like chew toys for dogs! Your mother has searched high and low for someone to help you... why can't you just sit down and work with me?"

"This is a hassle. You're a pain in the ass and I'm irritated."

I gave Dr. Patton a final glance before I walked out of his office, slamming his door on the way out and meeting up with my mother. She was sitting in the rest area, reading a magazine on mental illnesses. She had her thin lips set into a frown and worry-lines were etched onto her forehead.

"Ma," I called out as I quickly walked up to her, shoving my hands in my pockets as I looked around at everyone else who was resided in the room. It was quite a lot of people, all ranging from adolescence to adulthood and beyond that.

She looked up at me and stood up, dropping the magazine and smiling softly,"How was today's session?"

I studied her momentarily; her eyes were besieged with dark, filmy bags and her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. She was garbed in a jumpsuit that was damn there falling off of her and I involuntarily winced—she looked like hell and back.

"Have you been sleeping at all?" I asked, ignoring her question and giving her a hard glare.

"No, Adam. I haven't—and how did today's session go?"

"Was a waste of time," I answered curtly.

Any hope she had for this doctor and for me was diminished almost instantly as she digested my words and turned her back to me.

"Well then, let's go home." She said as she walked away from me soundly, her bobs making suction noises as they kissed the floor.

It wasn't rocket science to realize how disappointed she was at the moment; I'm sure she was pointing fingers—at me. This was the fourth doctor in seven months and she was running out of options.

It wasn't that I didn't cooperate, but it's not easy telling a complete stranger why the hell you feel the way you do and be comfortable about it. If I sat there and said exactly what, why, and how I feel then I'd probably be on my way to the coo-coo bin in a straight jacket.

I can imagine it now:

"It's like I'm constantly in slow motion. I'm irritated by everything and I just want to eat everything I see."

They'd think I'm on my period—which is impossible.

"But honestly, honey... what went wrong?" My mother asked quietly as she settled into the driver's side, the car starting only seconds after.

I met her eyes half-way and shrugged,"I wish I knew, Ma."

"I've been a good mother, right?"

"Yea."

~

ONCE we finally made it home, my mom instantly absconded into her room: she was probably going to look for another doctor or something. Without a single word or a parting glance, I was left in the kitchen. I noticed the plate of food that was resting under the stove light and took it, disappearing into my room just as she did.

I didn't feel bad. About my mother, I mean.

I really didn't feel anything other then hunger and exhaustion. I didn't get to eat anything since morning so it took me no time to finish the plate of food.

But what was I expecting; what was she expecting?

I knew I was unreasonable, difficult, and hard to keep up with. But that's all the more reason why she should just leave me be. There hasn't been a time where she's done something that benefited me, or vice versa. Anything I've done only made things worse and anything she's done only proved futile. That's just how it seemed to work.

Even though my mother was the only one willing to stay, it's been a struggle. With or without her, it would be the same. I'd be the same kid who was encased in a glass box, separated from the world; the same kid who sees cloudy, misty, hazy—the same kid who has been numb his entire life.

I'm the kid whose father blamed himself for everything and whose mother became best friends with stress.

I'm—

"Adam? Honey?"

I glanced over at my door that was cracked slightly and met the eyes of my mother.

"Hm?"

"I've signed you up for a support group."

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Feedback would be nice! If I seem to be going in the wrong direction then feel free to tell me now because that's the last thing I wish to do! Anyway, updates might be slow just because I'm figuring out where I'm going to take this story, so I apologize for that.

But thanks for reading guys!

Jayla ✎