It's So Easy | Buddy Holly

Rose

A/N: Underlined is spoken in French, bolded in German.

January 20th, 1955. 3:32 pm, Lubbock Hospital Psychiatric Ward

"How has your day been, Violet?" Dr. Maddison closes the door to his office and sits at his desk.

"I'm in a psych ward, how do you think my day has been?" I lean back and cross my arms.

"I would say your day has been bad?"

"I've been doped up with the 'Wonder Drug' since I got here. I don't even know what I feel." I squeeze my eyes shut and slowly open them.

Dr. Maddison jots something down on the notepad. I swear to God, those notepads are mocking me. "That's what mood stabilizers do, Violet."

I roll my eyes. "I would rather feel sad over feeling numb, thanks."

"Well, you're here to get better. Let's move on from this and onto the actual session. You were speaking German yesterday. You briefly mentioned that in your form. How does that language make you feel? Do you think in German?" Dr. Maddison reaches into his breast pocket and gets his glasses, sliding them on.

I slowly inhale. "Sometimes. Usually I think in English or French. It depends on the day. Sometimes when I wake up, I forget how to even speak English. It takes me a few minutes to get it back."

Scribbles. "Does German make you uncomfortable?"

"Not as bad as it used to. Sometimes when I hear it I tense up, but usually I'm okay. I used to get panic attacks from hearing it, but German stopped causing them."

"What else causes your panic attacks?"

I uncross my arms and look and my hands. "Um, I don't know. Usually things like school. Sometimes I get so slammed with work that I sort of freak out because I know I won't sleep that night. I heard a gunshot a couple of weeks ago and just shut down. I don't know if it was a panic attack but I just blanked for a while. I couldn't breathe or see, really."

"That sounds like an anxiety attack." Dr. Maddison leans forward.

"Oh my God, wait. Has anyone gotten my school work? I have to start on it now otherwise I'm going to be so far behind! I can't be here." I start to stand up.

Dr. Maddison glares at me. I slowly sit back down.

"I'm sorry." I mumble.

"Stop saying sorry."

"Um...I'm...not sorry?" I look down at my lap.

"Why do you say sorry so much?"

"I'm trained to. If I didn't say sorry to a soldier I could have been shot."

He writes something down. "What else do you believe you're trained to do?"

I lock my hands together in my lap. "I don't know."

Write. "Okay."

We sit in silence for a little while. I can feel his eyes burning into my head, but I don't dare to look up.

"You can leave now." Dr. Maddison says after what seems like forever.

"Thank you." I quickly say and almost run out of the room.