therapy / e.d

7

I twiddle the small piece of paper in my fingers, How I Met Your Mother playing on the tv in the background. Gabriel's number.

I don't know how I would feel texting him. I've been contemplating texting him for over a week now. Somehow it doesn't seem like the right thing to do.

I groan, lying on the couch. An uneaten peanut butter and jam sandwich lays on a plate on the table. Mom made it for me, insisting. She claims even after bringing me home almost a month ago, I've barely put on weight and she can still see my collarbones.

I hide the paper in my pocket when mom enters the room. Her hands rest on her hips in an angered manner. She looks at me, then at the sandwich, then back at me with a sigh.

"I'm not hungry." I shrug, fiddling with my fingers.

Mom cautiously walks closer, sitting on the sofa chair in front of me. Oh god, that sofa chair. Ethan. I screw my eyelids closed, calming myself down. I take long deep breaths before opening my eyes.

"You're not eating or sleeping. You're barely living sweetheart and it's killing me." Mom says sadly and I scoff.

"It's killing you? Really?" I ask, incredulously. "God. You-you have no idea what's going on inside my head." I sneer, shaking my head.

Mom stares at me like she doesn't recognise me. It's sad really. I wet my dry lips before sighing.

"This PTSD... it's ripped me from sleep, it's ripped me from an appetite and what's even worse is that... it's ripped me from you. I can't control it." I speak, void of emotions but I mean what I say. I just can't use emotions anymore. I feel like a robot.

I see mom's lip quiver and I have to look away.

"I am a mess and...I'm scared because I don't know how to fix myself. I feel so goddamn helpless in my own mind, how is that even possible? Who knew that was even a thing?" I ramble, letting everything out. "The worst part is that this trauma is making me hate myself. I hate who I've become. I am a terrible person and I don't deserve a mother like you." I pour my heart out, feeling guilty.

Tears fall down my cheeks as I look down, feeling ashamed of myself. I just want to be happy without the guilt and trauma. I don't want to push mom away, I don't want to drown in flashbacks everyday. I want normalcy in my life.

"Mia..."

I look up and mom is crying. She stands up and sits beside me, her arms wide open. I collapse into them, her arms wrapping me up so I'm pressed to her chest. For the first time in ages, I feel the warmth of another person, I feel love and hope for brighter futures.

I sob in her arms. "I'm sorry." I apologise, my ear listening to the beating of her heart.

"If I could heal you, Mia I would do it in a heartbeat if it meant you'd never feel an ounce trauma or anxiety ever again." Mom says, making me feel insanely guilty for pushing her away.

We pull away and mom places her hands on either side of my face, staring at me with tearful eyes.

"Don't apologise to me. I'm the one who's sorry. I just want you to be happy, that's all a mother wants for her child and I promise you, you will be happy soon." She declares and I nod along to her words, praying she's right.

_

I pick at the bread of the sandwich, popping a few crumbs in my mouth. Mom consoled me after we cried together for a short while until she had to go to work and help other people through their problems. She begged me to eat a little bit of the sandwich so I guess you could say I'm trying.