The Definition of Me

Chapter 16: Pills, Therapy, and Happiness

To @paint_your_face for giving me creativity at my lowest, and for believing in my first ever Wattpad story. Thank you.

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"Would you like to talk about your father?"

"No, thank you."

"You are angry at him. It's okay to be angry, Rosemary."

I scoff angrily at her.

"Let's talk about what happened the night you ran away from home."

"Look, I am not doing this, alright?"

"What happened that night?" The woman, if addressed by name Mel Carter, but who prefers me to call her Doctor Carter, clicked her pen and scribbled down some notes ignorantly. She didn't seem mad, she didn't seem angry or calm, her expression was tense and focused. She was studying me, and I was studying her; her eyes that were boring to look at, her teacher-like look, her thin, rosy lips and her clean, pale skin. I could not see further. She is asking me to open up, although doesn't want to ask it straightforwardly, and yet she is the one keeping a straight face and being plain - no emotion, just a pensive stare, that's it. I want to throw a chair at her just to see if she will react because my attitude is not producing anything from her. I want to push her over the edge. I don't want to be here. I want her to never want me to be here again. I want her to call Gemma or my mom and complain about me so they won't bring me back here. They agreed upon this, I didn't. I didn't know this was happening until thirty minutes ago when my mom lied about taking me to a record store.
Other people can't decide what's best for me. I am angry at the world, at this universe that is so far from perfect. It's like I am the black hole whilst others are stars and beautiful planets. And happiness seems galaxies away today. It seemed closer yesterday. Will it feel further away tomorrow? How am I so broken and yet so put together? Am I broken? My mom is getting a divorce, I am no longer going to live with a fuck-up dad, I should be happy, not broken. I hate that word.
I am no longer going to live in a black hole, but it's as though the black hole is pulling me in. It's like I can't get rid of my feelings. I want my dad to know I am hurt. I want him to be hurt too. He is the hole that's dragging me. And the worst part is... he will never understand it. He will never, no matter if I cry or chop my arm off, give a damn. No mercy, I will slap your mom and you will watch me do it.
So I hope his brain shuts off from that alcohol, from that whiskey, and I will be there to watch him just like he has been watching me suffer. I will spit on his grave once he is dead and wouldn't think twice, just like he never even thinks once about me. I hate him so much. I hate what he is making me feel. I hate how all these bad, angry memories are tied around him. I didn't choose to live with an alcoholic, but somehow this alcoholic chose me as his oops-nineteen-and-girlfriend-is-pregnant mistake. Without him my problems, my pain wouldn't exist. My heart is aching. Someone help me. Not this woman, not Gemma or mom, not a stranger. Liam. I need to see Liam. I need to call him. I need to talk to him. I need him. I want to cry on his shoulder whilst he wraps his strong arms around me and kisses me on my forehead. I want to be weak for once in my life. I want to let go of trying to always stay strong. I want someone else to pull me off the ground.
Liam makes it seem like the worst seems better. I want to go back to my 18th birthday. I want to be on top of the Empire State building with him and see the universe below me light up. I haven't seen it light up in years. I lived in the darkness of the brightest city and I saw it shine again. And I can't hold on to that anymore. I was a temporary star, I died out quickly, quicker than others, my light no longer shines. Now, the smallest things bring me back to a black hole - beer bottles, whiskey commercials, alcohol stores, broken glasses, bars, pubs, and tears of a child remind me of my own. Everything reminds me, brings me back and somehow defines me. I am the black hole.

The conversation didn't progress any further, she simply recommended me anti-depressants and wrote me a check for the session. A hundred and ten dollars for a twelve minute therapy 'hour'.

"Take these, and when you feel like talking you can book an appointment with me by calling this number again." She handed me an orange container with a white lid and even whiter pills inside. Those add up another thirty dollars. This woman just wants to make me broke, not get better.

I remember playing a game in kindergarten called 'eliminate'. You are given three words, and one of them doesn't fit into the category. For example - family, daughter, gasoline. Gasoline clearly doesn't fit in. Well, If I was to put pills, therapy, and happiness, I would take happiness away. Happiness doesn't come from pills (unless you are an addict). You don't walk out of therapy and wake up the next morning feeling happy. I have seen so many people become more depressed, more suicidal and more miserable from taking pills. Some choose the wrong therapists, some don't find the right support groups, and it only makes matters worse. It takes a long time to get better, and some don't get better at all. Will I be one of those people? I don't know why I am discussing mental illness. Am I ill? I don't see myself as a walking psychologically disordered person. I am simply angry. I am simply sad. I am simply everything but disordered. I have tried for too long to keep it together to have that label put on me.

***

"Did it help?"

"No?"

"Did she give you anything?"

"Yes, pills." I jiggle the container in my hands.

"What are those?"

"Cocaine," I say in a serious tone.

Liam grins, knowing I am joking.

"Anti-depressants. How many times a day?" He asks.

"Twice. Morning and evening."

"Will you take them?"

"Will you force me to?"

"No."

"Then I will."

"I want you to get better."

"Pills won't make it better."

"Do you want to go home?"

"No."

"Where should we drive?"

"Rue 57"

"Buckle up."

I put my seatbelt on and stare out the window. It's raining. My eyes are watering too but I am not letting a single tear fall down my cheek. I just want to be out of this black hole, and I know it will end soon. I check my phone whilst we are driving down Madison Ave and go to my notes. I have one note that says 'Book Quotes' and I start reading it. All the sad and happy and confusing and poetic and I-don't-even-know quotes that I pulled from the books I've read. There is one that sticks out to me - "If happiness doesn't last forever, neither does its opposite."
This comforts me. It's cheesy, just like Liam. It's beautiful, poetic and teenagery. I can imagine a 16-year old scrolling through Tumblr and like this. And I like it too, because it reassures me that this will be over, and I will be the one to end it.

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please tell me your thoughts and opinions, I haven't updated in ages! How do you like the new cover and title? I would love to hear from you.
With loads of bookworming love,

Barbara xx