Our Purpose

Chapter Four

A craft and a lunch later I find myself sitting in a cold, bland room. My clothes messily tucked in drawers and nothing but two beds and a desk with some crayons and makers. My roommate turned out to be Brian which was a bit of a comfort to me. I didn't know him and I didn't know why he made me feel more comfortable, probably because he's the only other male adolescent that I have spoken to. Awkwardly I asked him if he wanted to talk and get to know each other better and he only replied with something along the lines of "taking's for therapy." So now I'm laying here looking at the ceiling because I have nothing else I really want to do. I don't want to sleep because of the flashback like dreams I would most likely have and I don't have a journal so I can't write.

"Look, kid, maybe you shouldn't be here. Maybe you are misunderstood, but you are here, and that's what matters. I guess if you really want to know my story, I should tell it."

"Alright, I'm listening."

"When I was younger, both of my parents died in a car wreck, fearing that I would go into foster care I took my younger brother and we ran away. After bouncing from couch to couch for about a year, the system caught up with us. By that time no one really wanted an almost 15 year old kid, but just about anyone would take a well behaved 7 year old. So he is out somewhere with some people who might be taking good care of him, but then again might not. Then I'm stuck here because I refused to eat and wouldn't ever come out of my room."

We sat in silence for what seemed like forever. I could hear him choking back tears. Finally I decided to break the silence.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I had no idea."

He sighed and caught his breath "Not your fault, dude."

"Yeah, I know, but it still shouldn't have happened to you."

"What about you? What's your story, why are you here?"

"Oh. Well, I found out somethings that could completely change the world. The story is so long and complicated that I can't explain it clearly unless given a large amount of time. My story is so bizarre and so unreal that even if I had had the time to explain it clearly before being rushed to the E.R. it wouldn't have mattered. Everyone keeps telling me I'm schizophrenic, but I'm not, I know I 'm not. I need someone to list-"

Jane walks in and tells us both that it is time to go to therapy. Brian seems disappointed, like he just wanted to be left to sleep all day. I was not a fan of talk therapy. Mainly because the therapist is never on the same page as you right away. They always ask you questions about how you got to this point of mental instability and I don't want to tell her things just to have her try to fix me. Either way, I guess it doesn't matter. Like Brian said I'm stuck here, might as well accept it.