A Darker Form of Darkness

Chapter 1

"How are you feeling today?" The man in the white coat asks, adjusting his thin, brown glasses, the salt and pepper hairs on his face moving around as he talks. His medium skin creates a huge contrast against both his graying hair and his green eyes.

I put on my most chipper voice, trying to call on that inner acting power that I apparently had in 5th grade and respond. "I'm feeling great Dr Nelson, how are you today?"

Dr Nelson narrows his eyes at me and searches my expression for signs of my deceit. My shoulders slump under scrutiny and I drop my facade, letting the sadness filling my eyes spill over into my whole body. I'm too powerless to even keep that up, what kind of person am I? Besides, he knows I'm lying; he's a professional. Why do I bother?

"I'm sorry" I say, my voice betraying the last bits of sadness I was attempting to hide away. "I lied, I don't feel too great. I haven't in a long time. I feel numb and sad and I've let down my past self by not accomplishing all my dreams and everything is falling apart in my life. In good news, I don't feel like killing myself anymore." I force out a chuckle and look away from Dr Nelson's gaze that seems to drill into my skull. "That's good right?"

Dr Nelson scribbles something onto his paper and then looks back at me for a long moment, letting the silence fill the room. I can feel my self-doubt begin to rise from the deep dark pits as he lets me sit with my thoughts and a familiar panicky feeling forms in my chest, finding my darkest thoughts and bringing them to the front of my head. What if you never get better? it asks, What if your entire life is living in this place and never seeing anyone ever again because you'll never get anymore visitors and you'll never see your family again because they're so disappointed in you and they never loved you anyway. They wish you died, everyone wishes that you just succeeded in killing yourself.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. I chant in my head, chasing away the bad thoughts. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. I only realize that I've started to shout my chant into the room when Dr Nelson stops writing and looks up at me with concern in his eyes.

"Are you okay Jennifer?" he asks me and I turn away, cringing at the sound of my dead name, the name that my mother insists on calling me even when she knows how much I hate it, the name that she uses when she intends to punish me and I can almost see her angry icy blue eyes burning, their image permanently imprinted in my brain, the name that my classmates used to call me before they shoved me into the janitor's closet and locked me in, forcing me to yell until my throat was raw for someone to help me, help me please.

"Don't call me that," I choke out, as the tears that have begun to fill up my eyes threaten to spill out and expose my weakness.

"What would you like me to call you?" He asks in a soft, caring voice, leaning forward to try to show that he is here to help but I don't buy it. I shift my chair farther away from him, suddenly intensely interested in the blue tile pattern on the floor.

"Jasper. Please." I can almost picture myself dropping to my knees and begging him to call me by my real name, for someone to just listen to me for once.

"Okay, Jasper. I'm sorry for upsetting you. Would you like a tissue before we continue? Do you need to take a break?" He asks, worry laced into his voice. I still don't trust him; anyone who uses that name uses it as a weapon.

"No, I'm fine." I sniffle. He hands me a tissue box anyway and I mutter a "thank you". I may not trust him, but I have enough decency to be polite.

He waits for me to blow my nose and wipe my eyes and calm my breathing before he continues the interrogation. "Do you have any trouble going to sleep at night, or any trouble with waking up in the middle of the night?" he asks, being sure to maintain a calm voice, probably one of the tricks they taught him to get people to tell him all of their secrets.