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Mike isn't around the next day, but he did stopped by very quickly the morning before breakfast.
Thayer and I are currently at the Art Therapy session which I despite the most. I don't get the point of this therapy, and besides, I am not good at drawing.
Dr. Jean handed us white papers a while ago, telling us that we should draw on it.
She told us to draw about our feelings at the moment, the usual. But this time, she told us to use a pen, not a pencil. She even quoted something about letting out our emotions and reflecting in them yada yada yada.
At the corner of the room, I see Annika rocking on her heels. Her paper is on her right hand and she is staring blankly at her feet. This is the only time that I see her again since what happened a few weeks ago.
Another patient takes a seat next to her in that corner, I look at the patient and she's quiet, gripping the sides of the paper in her hands.
I can feel Dr. Jean's eyes on me. I try to shrug it off pretending that I didn't notice and go back into staring on my own paper.
"So how did it go?" Thayer asks after I had drawn a single bent line on my paper.
I stop for a moment, sparing him a glance and then proceeding on my work which is in fact, I have no idea what I'm doing.
"I found out that I'm mental," I answer casually, but deep inside knowing about it, about myself kind of broke me. I did not expect that which is stupid of me because obviously, I have to be mental to be fitted enough to be admitted in here.
Thayer stay quiet for a second, but I can sense the itch in his tongue to ask another question.
I feel like snapping at him, but I figured what's the point? He isn't even doing anything, just asking.
And thinking about that leads me to the established fact that I have some anger issues.
"I'm schizo," I say after a minute of silence, "I have personality disorder, and also bipolar disorder. Oh and not just that, I also suffered from a post-traumatic disorder that leads me to have those things that I had mentioned."
I didn't even realize that I had been gripping onto my pen a little too tight until a hole got formed on my paper.
"And now it's ruined," I mutter, "just like my whole life."
Thayer stops what he is doing, though he haven't even really started anything. He turns to face me, "your life isn't ruined."
"Oh yeah? I don't think so," I say sarcastically.
He puts down his pen ready to abandon the task at hand but then realized Dr. Jean is watching so he takes the pen back and started drawing a line.
"You'll create a new life once we get out of here," he whispers, "it isn't ruined."
