Parker
"We're not forcing you to contribute, but we just want you to know that we're here for you," this group therapy director says. Bullshit. They're in it for the money, or for the people who actually need this psychotic crap. I'm no schizo, I'm just a kid who got hit by a car.
"Whatever," I reply, slumping back in my wheelchair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, hair messed up and in my face-I'm the definition of teen angst.
It's been like this since my mom put me into this crap. Every week, Wednesday afternoons at four, same people, same problems, bullshit. I don't need to talk about my feelings, I'm perfectly fine keeping it on the inside. I'm not going to share my life with strangers, even if they keep telling me to.
Prior to God's idea of ruining my life, I was a normal sixteen year old. I went out, I got good grades, I had good parents, I played sports, I dated... I was happy. Ever since things changed, I've just been miserable.
Can't play sports.
Can't learn.
Can't move.
Can't walk.
What good am I?
None. I'm not good at all.
But, I listen, because I've been trained to. I've been a listener my entire life, so that probably explains why I know everyone's life story at group therapy whereas the director can't remember anything. Most of the people here are typical, it bothers me. Not that a sixteen year old boy in a wheelchair due to the fact he got hit by a car is really different, but I'm just another element to a sob story.
So, yeah, I listen. Most of them have broken families, which I feel bad for. Others get bullied, which I feel bad for. Look, I feel bad for everyone, but everyone's so similar, and my sympathy can only go so far. It takes guts, I have to admit. It takes guts to say that you've tried to kill yourself, or that you were abused.
Guess that makes me a coward, then, huh? Yeah.
I'm not good at handling my feelings, never have been. Throwing around a football? I could do that. Solve a bunch of equations? I could do that. I was just a wreck on the inside. Why is it really any different now?
Not sure where this is going, but I'll be back. This girl is staring at me, and it's kind of creeping me out.
YOU ARE READING
Martyr
Teen Fictionhe had his life rolled out in front of him like a carpet. she had her life rolled up and thrown into a closet. he almost got his life ended, she nearly got her life started. they meet. they go on dates. he becomes attached. she has something to hide...
