Short stories/poems

Therapy causes Death

(A/N: This one is actually terrible and I'm sorry. A little fact about this one is that it was actually an essay for my freshman year of highschool.)

As normal stories usually start out on a nice day this one didn't, it never even had any nice parts. I had a best friend die recently, he was the only person I actually liked hanging out with I hated a lot of people, pretty much my whole school more or less. I didn't think Marvin would actually do it. Kill himself and by drinking bleach no less. I always thought he was just joking about it, guess you don't really know a person. Mom would ask me all the time if I'm okay, I would tell her I'm fine but she didn't believe it.

"You are not okay! This is an event that will be in your mind forever, he was your friend wasn't he?" she asked. I was very annoyed at that last comment and I made no attempt to hide it. I just walked back to my room, mom calling my name, and closed the door. Once again drowning the world in music.

Another restless night, there's been a lot of them lately. I wonder why, note the sarcasm. I was laying down peacefully reading on my phone when my mom bursts through the door.

"YOU ARE GOING TO THERAPY!!!!!" she screamed. I couldn't speak, my vocal chords refusing to do what there supposed to do and in this case argue. I just stood there too shocked to do anything at all. My breathing was uneven and I couldn't get my heart beat under control.

"You okay?" Mom asked.

"Peachy," I squeaked out.

"If you say so. The first session will be in an hour so get dressed." She ordered. If I really have to go to therapy because my mom thinks that I'm depressed, I won't last long in this world.

About an hour later I was waiting outside of some therapist's office who's supposed to help but he'll just make it worse. I can handle it all on my own.

"Are you Lillian Mackie?" a middle aged man asked while walking through the door that said Dr. Brooks. I nodded and looked back to my phone and continued to read a book that I have read a million times. "Hi, I'm Dr. Brooks and I will be your therapist," He said.

"No duh, it says your name on the door." I replied clearly not in the mood for anything at the moment. When I made the smart remark he was already looking irritated I guess I'm going to be tough case. Oh well. "Let's get this started shall we?", he said suddenly which caused me to jump a little," So Lillian wh-,"I cut him off.

"It's just Lily, if I'm going to these pointless sessions might as well call me by my nickname." He gives me a weird look and just continues talking and asking questions like, "do you want to talk about the death, and other forms of that question to try and get an answer out of me but I just ignore him completely and continue to read.

The session ends and I walk out of the office without saying any words and walk straight home. About 5 weeks and 10 sessions later and Dr. Brooks trying to get me to open up about the suicide and my life I was tired of it. Mom was starting to think that I needed to be sent to an asylum and I was officially diagnosed with depression. I can't take any more of this insanity, I just want to be left alone.

When my session was over, my therapist said that it was my last session because I would be sent to the asylum in 3 days. That's what he thinks. I walk home like usually but this time it will all be over. I didn't think about ending it until therapy. I guess therapy causes death....