Before the Rain

Four: You've Taken Away My Hope and Gave Me a Shrink

How are you feeling?

Do you still want to harm yourself?

Why do you think you're having these thoughts?

Do you wish you hadn't tried to end your life?

Do you feel bad for just yourself or perhaps for your parents?

How do you feel about that?

For the past week I have been practically consumed with these questions about my fucking feelings and whatnot. Dr. Scott just couldn't get enough of how I felt about literally everything. He in fact seemed to be more absorbed with what went on inside of my mind than myself. Which of course is entirely understandable, considering he is a therapist. However, no one ever deemed themselves this persistent with my existence, making it something of an oddity.

I adapted to his tenacious curiosity mainly for parents' sake because after all, therapists getting paid to talk to a teenage boy who attempted suicide twice in one day can get pretty expensive. I also didn't want them to waste money on what I value as ultimately hopeless.

❧

My mother sat adjacent to me as did Dr. Scott, behind his pristine wooden desk.

I face forward, my hands now almost always twitching.

I wanted to tell them what I really thought about the situation. I wanted to tell them how I've never been more suicidal in my life, and how this past week has just contributed towards that motivation. I also wanted to tell Dr. Scott that I thought he was a shitty therapist, and that the terrible manufactured ideas they always seem to plant inside of your mind at the end of each session are most definitely implausible. At least for me, that is.

I don't want to let myself believe what Adam had said about how I am "ingenious." He doesn't even know me, and because he's so interested in my fucking illness he assumes the right to observe and further analyze?

But if I were to believe him, then I am certainly much too intelligent to make my problems into obstacles. I've known that things have never been that simple, especially the sort of things that are absolutely against yourself.

"Calvin?" Dr. Scott acquires in a firm tone.

I focus back on the two of them, "Yes? Sorry."

"It's okay," he confides, "I just wanted to talk about relationships."

I rolled my eyes and let out an apathetic laugh.

"Why that reaction?" He asks, always asking.

I shake my head, "People don't like me."

Dr. Scott leans forwards in his chair a little, his hands intertwined at the edge of his desk, "As an attractive boy as yourself? No. I bet you're just simply too caught up in your self-defilement that you don't even notice girls."

"You're right," I comply out of absolute agreement.

"Have you ever had a crush on a girl?" He presses on.

I let out somewhat of an annoyed sigh, "No."

There was an uncomfortable pause before he spoke again, "What about a boy?"

I felt my face flush an awful amount and kept my eyes on the ground. Fuck, I've made it so obvious.

"Hm, that's kind of what I figured," Dr. Scott adds, "Did you know about this?"

My mother purses her lips, most likely contemplating whether or not to just ship off her terribly fucked up child, "No, he doesn't really talk about that kind of stuff. But I'm fine with it."