My first therapy session wasn't anything special. Mostly bits of paperwork, and the physiologist, Dr. Gregson asking me about three hundred thousand questions. A lot of the questions consisted of my history involving drugs and sexual activity.
"Alright, Magana, just answer these next few questions with a yes or a no." Dr. Gregson said, turning the page to the verbal questionnaire. I nodded. "Have you ever smoked marijuana?"
"No." I lied.
"Drank alcohol?" He asked.
"Nope."
"Used inhalants such as paint or glue?"
"Nah." I lied again.
"Okay. I see you don't like telling me the truth about your drug history." Gregson sighed. He knows why I'm here, so he's aware of my drug history. "next section," He said. "Sexual activity."
"How about not the next section?" I said, making a face that said 'please stop this I don't want to discuss this subject with even myself'. Gregson looked at the clock, at his watch, then the paperwork.
"Well, lucky for you, we are out of time." He smirked. I shook his hand and thanked him. "Wait out in the waiting room, and a staff member from your living quarters will come get you soon, okay?" Gregson told me as I left his office.
McKai came in soon enough and asked how my first session went. "Uh, it was alright I guess. Kind of stupid to be honest, if you ask me."
"I did ask you."
"It's kind of stupid."
"Yeah, that's what most kids say after their first three or so sessions," McKai told me. "But, after some time, they begin to see the reason and significance for them." I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but I decided to shut up because they were probably stupid questions. My head was still trying to wrap itself around the last forty-eight hours. Those forty-eight hours were probably the most eventful forty-eight hours I'll ever experience. Which, now that I say that, sounds really sad.
"Here we are, F.E.," McKai said, reading the sign outside, hung on the fence. In black letters, it said "FRANCIS ELIZABETH - 1963". The paint, like everything else, was faded and chipping away. "It's actually right around lunch time," McKai told me, looking at his watch. "So why don't you go inside if you need to, or we can just head straight to the cafeteria."
"Let's just head straight there." I said. He nodded.
YOU ARE READING
Psychiatric Hospital High School
General FictionAfter being checked into Corvallis Farm Home High School And Psychiatric Hospital (dubbed Psych-School or C.P.H.S. by the other patients), Magena Mai Abque is forced to come to terms with her past and present mental state. Stuck in the middle of no...
