released ± [ luke hemmings ]

± o n e

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"So nothing's getting better?" She asked me, the black-rimmed glasses balanced on the tip of her nose and her hand poised towards the metal clipboard that was resting on her lap. What an original question. Not.

I think we started off with the same question every week, and saying I was sick of constantly answering the same questions in the same way would be an understatement.

I shook my head, looking down and fiddling nervously with my hands, one of the many unstoppable habbits I seemed to have evolved over the years as the therapist immediately started scribbling down notes about me, probably about my negativity and unintential rudeness.

Yes, I hated giving half an hour of my day up every week to something that never seemed to help me, but I still can't help but get nervous at the fact that this woman is silently judging me on my past and the things I've done.

And then I sat there for another 30 minutes, as always, nodding and shaking my head to the same pointless questions that she asked me continously, week after week. Without fail.

Have you ever heard anyone tell you that a therapist changed their life around? I certainly haven't, and I know why. Therapists only ask you about your day and what you've been doing, they never actually do anything that will benefit your life. Well mine never seems to be, all she seems to do is ask me if I'm okay and if things are getting better, and she will continously get the same answer from me, because nothing is going to be okay.

It's like trying to straighten out a crumpled ball of paper, or trying to fix broken glass. It's not going to work, no matter how hard you try, it will never end up being the same as it used to be. And I'm never going to feel any better.

I'd concluded that nothing in the world would be able to pull me out of my seemingly never-ending low that I'd been consumed in. It just wasn't going to happen, and hoping for something to help me just got my hopes up and hurt me even harder when I eventually realised that nothing would save me.

"It wasn't your fault Madeleine. You couldn't have stopped it." She said suddenly, wrenching me out of my thoughts. We hadn't talked about... it since my first session 7 months ago.

"Yes it was." I said, surprising myself. I barely said anything in my therapist sessions normally. I just nodded and shook my head for the appropriate questions, maybe give a one word answer to those questions that would require more.

A short bell rang out, signalling the end of our session. Immediately, I grabbed my bag off the floor and walked out the room, sending a small nod towards her but not saying a word. I wouldn't say I was trying to be rude, but therapists suck. They always tell you that they understand what you're going through, but they don't. They don't understand the half of it, and it really gets on my nerves, because no-one actually does.

I let the large glass door slam shut behind me as I stepped out into the street, the cool December breeze hitting me as I subcontiously tightened my coat around me, nuzzling into the fur as I tried to navigate myself through the busy paths. People were rushing around left, right and center and I was getting slightly dizzy, even though I had been living in London for 17 years - my whole life.

You can never really get used to it.

I wasn't really sure where to go. Normally, after a friday evening therapist session, I would go straight back home, but I'd been in a small argument with my parents before I left, and I didn't really feel like having to go back to them so soon.

It wasn't a major arguments, nowhere near as bad as some of the ones in the past, and it was over something stupid really. I always seem to break down when people tell me that, "everything is going to be okay", because it's the most cliché thing ever, as well as being a terrible lie.

I mean, it's used so much nowadays that I don't think people even understand the meaning of okay anymore. It's like people say it as a way out of getting into an awkward conversation that they don't really care about.

Anyway, I know they wouldn't have calmed down yet, especially my Mother, who has a much shorter temper than my Dad, and I don't particularly want to have to deal with them telling me how I need to get on with my life because it really doesn't help.

"If we can try and move on, why can't you?" They say. Well, maybe it's because you're moving on for all the wrong reasons. They're 'moving' on to prove a point to me, because they feel to guilty about themselves to think about it any more. But deep down, I know they feel just as crap as I do, but still they make me feel like I'm an outcast, because I still actually care about the person that was such a big part of our lives.

I really shouldn't let things like this get to me in public, it consumes my thoughts and clouds my head so that I no longer thing about my surroundings properly. As I turned a corner, instead of walking on, I crash into another person head on, sending us both flying backwards.

Luckily, I managed to regain balance and stay standing, just like the other person I bumped into, who looked a bit shocked, as well as noticeably angry.

"Could you watch where you're going?" The guy said, brushing himself off as he sent me an unattractive scowl. The sharp breeze had messed up his hair, leaving him with short strands of blonde hair shooting out in all directions. He looked my age, maybe older, but highly rude nevertheless. He could have easily dodged me if he was looking, it wasn't just my fault.

"Sorry." I whispered. I know it was his fault too, but I've never been the person for confrontation. I just had to apologise and get on with it. I had enough to deal with, I didn't need an arrogant boy on my back too.

"Yeah, you should be." He shot back rudely, glaring at me with his cold blue eyes, before turning away, leaving me alone with my mouth open in shock. How can anyone be that.. disgusting?

"Dick." I muttered under my breathe, before continuing to walk onwards, a recognisable scowl implanted firmly on my face, mimicking the one I had seen just seconds before.

It doesn't take a lot, but one rude boy can really put a darkness over an already black day.

"I heard that." The boy shouted after me as I chuckled sarcastically, subcontiously walking slightly faster. Rude and cocky, what a lovely combination.

And as I made the short walk back home, I felt myself thinking through surrounding thoughts in my head over that blonde boy, and how I really, really hoped I wouldn't have to cross paths with him again.

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