Kenny Is Not Okay

Therapy

And there he was again. Anxiously waiting for them to call him in. He thought about just leaving since he was there all alone and was about to do it, until his therapist showed up. Kenny sighed and followed her to the room.

"So, how's it been?"

"Fine." Kenny muttered, looking away.

He couldn't even look at the therapist, she would stare at him trying to make eye contact all the time. But Kenny always looked away, he was anxious enough without any eye contact at all.

"Alright, fine. Tell me more."

"Everything's been just fine.. no suicidal thoughts, no self-harm.." Kenny began to explain while playing with his rubber band. Besides less harmful self-harm it also worked as an anxiety reliever.

"That's great."

That's how the visits always were. Some questions about how Kenny was doing and such. How's it been? Have you taken your medicine? Have you had suicidal thoughts or actions? He always had to think what he could answer, would the whole truth make it look like he wasn't getting better? Would the answer give them more things to talk about? That's what he tried to avoid. As little conversation as possible, back home as soon as possible.

About an hour later Kenny was almost free to go.

"See you later.. we'll still see, right?" the therapist asked.

"Uhh.. I think I'm good." Kenny tried.

But of course he still had to keep going there. He was told when his next appointment would be, and then he was free to go.

Once he met his mom in the waiting room and they walked outside together, he decided to try again.

"Do I have to go again?" Kenny asked.

"Yes. They just want to help you."

"Trust me, I'll be fine!" Kenny tried.

Maybe they actually just tried to help. Maybe Kenny should start accepting the help he was offered... or not. The greatest thing that kept him clean from cutting was the thought of more therapy and treatment. If he didn't cut, at some point he'd be free from everything.