The Lousy Truth (Kellic)

Nine.

Six years ago, my mom first caught me having an intense argument by myself in my room. I wasn't though; I was talking to Vic and I forgot to lock my door. I remember that day vaguely, it being such a typical, horrible day after school. As usual, the kids were picking on me, one resulted to the other and I ended up punching this kid named Matt. I didn't really know what has gotten into me but as soon as I shook out from that dark trance, I immediately saw Matt laying on the cafeteria's floor with blood oozing out from his nose and a huge crowd circling the commotion.

I went home with a note from the principal, asking for my mother, of course. It was the first major incident that I've gotten myself into. Usually, I could control my temper but that day was my birthday and right when I thought that I was going to be facing a peaceful and pleasant day with Vic for a celebration, Matt and his goons just had to ruin it, forcing my face to this cake that I bought for myself. When I decided that I finally had enough, I punched him. I think. I still think that he deserved it but what I feel regretful about is the fact that I was so angry to the point where I forgot to close my door.

I didn't know that my mom was already suspecting something from me but then again, I was too naive to notice and she wasn't. I blame her great motherly instinct. It's not just the weird argument that I was having with myself, no. She also caught me scratching my arm vigorously. It was a habit that I somehow developed whenever I'm either anxious or angry. I would vent to myself. I was my own outlet - aside from Vic, of course. But the thing is, Vic is my positive outlet, all the negative things that I could say or do, I direct all of them towards myself. Vic doesn't deserve them, I do.

My mom cried that day and I hated myself for it. I love my mom with all my heart and I know that she was so worried about me. I didn't know that I was causing her that much sadness. I made a pact with myself to never hurt my mom in any way or form. I didn't want to be like my asshole of a father. So, she told me that she'd be getting me a therapist and that I'd have a scheduled session with them. The idea didn't sit well with me at first. I mean, I've watched far too many movies and TV shows depicting how horrible those therapy sessions could be. All I knew was that a therapist of some sort would make you sit in their office whilst they hold onto their clipboard, jutting down all the wrongs that would spill out from your mouth and after an hour or so, they'd let you out and make you come back only to do the same thing all over again the next week.

I didn't want that routine but I hate hurting my mother more than anything else in the world. So, with so much doubt clouding my mind, I agreed with her. She was so happy with my decision but I wasn't. I was just glad that she finally smiled and her tears finally subsided.

About six months into therapy, Ms. Jane, my therapist, said that she's not seeing any progress in me getting better. I couldn't deny that one. I could feel myself getting worse. The only one who's keeping me up and happy was Vic, really. He's been such a great companion and I endlessly feel so bad that I couldn't do anything to repay his efforts although he tells me that I don't have to do anything and that I do not have to repay him or whatever.

Vic and I's friendship was put to a halt when Ms. Jane and my mother agreed on putting me in these medications. Apparently, they could help in stopping these "voices" that I hear in my head. I don't see why they had to cut me off from Vic, though. I mean, he was basically the only one who's keeping me alive. I didn't have much of a choice although I've already caused a scene in Ms. Jane's office, thinking that by throwing a tantrum, they might change their minds. I was screaming, telling them that I didn't need those pills, that I was okay and that those would only make me worse. My mom thought that it's what's best for me, though.

Vic and I had been disconnected for months and in those months, I felt so numb but real, in a weird sense. I still didn't have any friends but what's weird was that I was able to be present - if that makes sense. I was able to be extra observant of the people and the places around me. I think it's because I didn't have that much of a choice. With Vic's presence vanishing into thin air, I didn't have anyone else to take my mind off of the real things around me.