These Demons

Chapter Twenty-two

**Little side note: Today is my seventh day without any binging or purging! It might look like a small number to many, but I haven't been able to stand the urge this long in a great period of time, so I'm really proud of myself and will continue to try to stay strong.  **

The next day starts the exact same way the previous one did, and when I'm called for my counseling session, I'm almost relieved because it delivers me from my lethal boredom.

"Good morning," Warner says cheerily and I return a forced smile.
"How has it been for you to room with Kellin? I heard you two get along very well."
"We do," I agree. "He's a great guy."
"I'm happy to hear that." I could not care less.
"See, Kellin will be admitted to a different therapy program very soon. He's made great progress. I believe you have the strength to do the same thing."

"Thanks," is all I mutter because I don't know how to react to a statement like this.
"See," he attempts to explain when recognizing my lack of understanding, "I believe the best thing for you to choose would be a similar form of inpatient treatment."
I don't react visibly, but my blood runs cold.

"I would start to help you deal with your issues here, but you will leave us tomorrow, so we have to look for different options."
No, we fucking don't, but I can't let him notice my tension. He has to believe me.

"You won't say anything?"
"I don't think I need any further treatment," I slowly say.
The psychologist frowns.
"Why do you believe that?"
I get nervous because I know I'm close to appearing suspicious, but I have to find a way out of this continued therapy situation because there is absolutely no way in hell that I will go any further with this emotional bullshit when I'm home.
I'm not a lunatic and not a crybaby either and certainly don't need to pay someone to listen to my whining.

"I'm doing great," I lie.
"I've made a lot of progress here too and I'm sure it will keep going like that at home."
"Well, Andy," Warner begins and puts his files away to fully focus on me, which makes me scared for his words.
"It's great to see what positive place you're in now and how much optimism this eye-opening experience has brought you..."
If only.
"But you might be overestimating yourself. I doubt you can do it on your own."

"But I can," I insist stubbornly.

"That's what everyone believes at the beginning, but I've been working in this field for many years and I can assure you that recovery is much harder than you think at first."

"Thanks for the motivation," I say sarcastically and Warner snickers. "I'm not trying to discourage you. I'm just trying to keep you from bitter disappointment when a relapse occurs."

"How do you know that that will occur?" I want to know, rattled because he's suddenly talking so negative.
He's usually the positive one here, and if he isn't, then things must be really fucked.

"Relapses are a part of recovery," he simply states and if I weren't in a position where I don't want or need to recover in the first place, this would probably seriously scare me.
Not that I know what relapses are like, but it must be quite awful to be thrown all the way back to where you started. 
Only that it doesn't apply to me.

"So what do you expect me to do?" I ask because I'm clueless where this is going.
I'm not even sick.
But I can't say that.

"Continue your therapy," he tells me and picks up his folder again with my name on it to take more notes, and I wonder what he always writes down there.
Probably rants and complaints about what an idiot I am.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I will take that as an indication for you still not acknowledging what's happening to you.
You're an adult, so I can't force you to do anything, but as soon as you'll break down again, which you will because eating disorders do that to you, we will have a judge make the decisions for you."

"A judge?" I repeat in disbelief and remember the doctor mentioning that on the first day, but I didn't really believe her threats.
"That's what happens when people are too far stuck in their sicknesses to live in reality. Their delusions make any form of voluntary decisions towards recovery impossible."

"Why do you even care about those people?" I ask and I'm sweating because of his words even though my entire body is as cold as always.
I keep repeating in my head that this particular type of person he talks about is and will never be me, but that doesn't calm my anxiety at all.

"We can't let people kill themselves. You should be aware of that."
I don't respond to that. I'm not like Kellin. I don't want to die. 

"So I have to continue this stuff," I conclude and Warner nods. "You know you need it."
Not really.
"You haven't gained a gram since you got here."
And I'm proud of that.
"Even though you've been eating. That makes it clear that something is still very wrong with your body and mind, and you can't deal with it alone."
If only you knew.

"I can't go to another hospital," I state crossing my arms and the doctor raises his eyebrows. "And why is that?"
"I have a band," I tell him, "And our next record will be out really soon. I can't disappear now."
That's actually even true, but the sad thing is that I don't even care about that.
I'm just saying this to find excuses and it shouldn't be like that.
My band should be everything to me, just like it used to be.

"You can't take time off?"
"Not with the release date, interviews, shootings and the international tour coming up," I truthfully tell him. Needless to say, I'll have to do all these things because it's my job and I can't let the others down, and music is the only thing I actually can do because I didn't even finish high school and don't have any other skills.
But do I really want to do any of this anymore?
Not really.
The fun factor, the passion... It's been fading rapidly, and the attention it always brings me makes me sick now.

"But you can still receive outpatient therapy during this stressful time then."
"But like you just said, it will be stressful," I counter and he smiles. "There's never so much stress that you can't go see someone for one or two hours a week."
"Only a therapist could say that," I mumble. 

He sighs.
"Andy, why am I beginning to get the impression that you're making steps backwards and fleeing back into your distorted thoughts?" 
"Is that a question?" I carefully feel my way.
"Can you answer it?"
"Um," I start. "I think I'm just... Setting priorities," I try.
"And the band is your priority?" Not really.
"Of course. It's my band."
"It's great that you have something you care about so much, but you can't be in a band when you collapse on stage because you refuse to eat."

"Who says I will?" I defend myself, but it's hopeless.
I have no idea how to get myself out of this whole situation with the therapy without ruining everything I've been pretending to be.
"Don't fool yourself."
I don't react.

"Okay, how about this. I'll call a few colleagues of mine in town that do outpatients with eating disorders. You'll check them out and work together with whoever you get along with well. These people I'll recommend you are the best ones I know."

When I hesitate, he impatiently tips with his pen on the paper on his lap. 
"You have to agree with something if you want a nice report from me."

I'm silent for a few painfully long seconds.
"I'll only have to go once a week."
"Once or twice."
"And can stay at home and live my life."
"As long as you make progress and cooperate."

I sigh.
I know I'll regret agreeing with this, but I don't have any other options right now.
All I know is that I'll try everything possible to avoid the appointments. 
I haven't gone nuts and I don't need anyone to make me.

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Alkaline Trio - Hell Yes