Demented

The Number Seventeen Is Important to Me

October thirty-first had arrived. It was Halloween and everyone was trying to celebrate it to the best of their abilities. Everyone was also trying their best to celebrate Frank's birthday. He was seventeen that day, an age he was wearing with pride. In a year, he would be an adult and that stood for a lot.

The only problem was the fact that the next day would mark the one year anniversary of being a patient in this psychiatric hospital. Frank had made very little progress. His post traumatic stress disorder was the only thing that ever stayed in reasonable control. His dependent personality disorder was becoming worse. He relied too much on Gerard. He felt subordinated compared to him (compared to everyone). Frank was preoccupied with the fear of Gerard abandoning him and was uncomfortable when alone.

He was on the verge of crying himself to sleep, after he forced himself to throw up. He wasn't suicidal, thankfully.

Frank could always rely on Gerard to make him feel better though. He could make him feel so high and he gave him some sense of importance.

Frank didn't have much hope. The only thing that could be cured was his depression and social anxiety. Yet, anxiety also came with his PTSD. As did depression. Anxiety and depression was also common in dependent personality disorder. The way Frank saw it was that there was no way out. Frank didn't really know what his will to live was. Maybe it was for Gerard, or maybe he still had a tiny amount of hope left in his damaged heart.

Frank was going to rid his mind of these negative thoughts. The day had been going well so far. His friends wished him a happy birthday and gave him some of their food. Everyone sang happy birthday to him during group therapy. It was a nice day outside, so Frank didn't have to worry about being uncomfortable. So, he put a smile on his face. He didn't plaster a smile. Plastering a smile, was faking a smile. Putting a smile on his face, encouraged him to be happy.
That was his goal.

"Have you been having a nice day?" Dr. Eston asked, as Frank sat down for cognitive behavioural therapy.

"Yeah," Frank smiled.

"You're seventeen! How does that feel?"

"Feels great!"

"Frank, have you finished that assignment I gave you?"

Frank reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a crumbly piece of white, lined paper. He flattened it out and handed it to his therapist.

Goals:
Week 1- Understand my self worth.
Week 2- What can I do to show my self worth through behavior?
Week 3- Do people around me treat me like I have self worth?
Week 4- Examine to see if the changes I've made are helpful.

Overall Objective: Have self worth.

"Good job. We'll start this tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

"Let's talk about self worth first. Do you really understand it?"

"Yes," Frank nodded. "Self-esteem."

"Our goal for you is to have self esteem. Why don't you have it now?"

Ugh! Why do you think I don't have it? We talk about this stuff all the time. You know, you just want to annoy me.

"I don't think I have any worth. I don't think I'm important. I don't matter."

Dr. Eston wrote that down. "Frank, are you aware that tomorrow will be the one year-"

"I know," Frank interrupted. He was better off not remembering. Thanks to his therapist, he was down in the gutter again.

"You're...a special case." Once Frank heard that first sentence, he decided to distract himself with the thought of Spider-Man. Eston went on, "A year is a long time. The plan was for you to be able to go home after two months. Frank, in all honesty, we would've released you in July, but, we don't think you can function. You're unresponsive. You're too scared."