Voices. You'd think the ones in my head are the reason I have to go to these therapy sessions every week. But their not, those voices comfort me, they help me. It's not the ones I think I hear, but the ones I can barely hear as I walk down the hallway that get to me. The whispers. Their what make me sit in this room for hours talking about my problems.
But I don't want to talk, at least not today. No. I know better, if I don't talk I'll get worse, I'll just burst in class again. I won't be able to stop the tears this time. It's awful when it happens, people just start to stare, that only makes it worse. I just cry and cry, people say I do it for attention, that I always want attention, and when I don't get it I'll find a way no matter how bad.
That's not true, I suffer from a serious problem, I can't help it. This is where the voices in my head come in, at the point where I sit in a bathroom stall balling, they tell me it's not my fault, that the others don't get it, they couldn't if they tried, I can take all the time I need but that I can't skip class forever.
I just hate their eyes as I walk into class late, their eyes are cold and judging and I feel like they criticize me as I slip threw the desks as silent as I can be.
Damn when's that therapist gonna get here. I've been waiting for over 20 minutes
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Notes from hallsterz:
I'm not sure what to do with this story, I'd like to write more of it but I'm not sure if I should to please tell me what you guys think of it in the comment thingy place. Also give it a title cause I don't have one yet.
