Therapy » m.c

[0] Hello My Name Is...

PREFACE

Psychotic Depression.

This is what I get for hauling my ass to the doctor's office.

It's crazy, right?

Just two words can make you rethink your entire life.

My mom said I should start taking these sort of things seriously, my episodes, as she likes to call them, are getting out of hand. So, her form of a wake up call was to send me to Briar Oaks Rehabilitation Center.

No, she wasn't planning on throwing me in rehab, but what she did do was sign me up for their two hour counciled group seminars. Or at least that's what I could make out from her filling out the application forms. She kept on checking all these boxes and signing my name everywhere, I naturally lost track of it all.

It was extremely difficult to keep my excitement from surfacing, but as it turned out, it's either I become one of their actual patients or bite the bullet for a few months.

And I would much rather be part of a support group than be that insane kid who lost his sister.

Oh wait, it's too late for that one...

As long as these low lives in white garments get paid, they can feed us whatever shit they want, throw on a label, and there you have it, one size fits all makeshift medicine. If I'm not doped up on my last prescription, I'll be wasting away in my room alone, listening to some illegal downloads on my phone or laying in bed, staring blankly at the wall. Just feel free to ignore my lack of presence.

My parents already do...

Even though Josie's been gone for a year now, I still think my parents want to know why it happened. Hell, I want some answers. But just like the thousands of people that die each day, my sister became just another 'plus one'. Her story was in the headlines for two days, but after that, people stopped talking about it. There were no more pitiful stares or apologies, in fact, I don't think it crossed their minds after that 48 hour mark. And even if I don't want to, I can't help but to blame her for what I've become.

Well now that you know why I'm here, let's get down to the good stuff, yeah?

As soon as you are admitted into Briar Oaks, it's as if your identity is stripped away from you. Their form of therapy lies in us accepting our mental ailment, with the hope that the rest will follow suit. In a nutshell, they're payed to sit on their asses all day and listen to people who are medically pronounced unstable. Despite the many times we have to stand up and say our names, we are only seen as the illnesses we suffer from.

See over there in the blue, she goes by bipolar disorder, bipolar for short. And the guy leaning against the snack counter, he's acute anxiety. Oh and see that guy, with the tucked in shirt and toupee? Yeah, call him DID.

Oh and me? I'm Michael. Clifford that is, but you can call me Major Depression.

[A/N]

I'm going to make this short and sweet :)

This right here is my baby and I hope you love it as much I do.

I love to hear from you guys, so please leave a little comment and maybe even a vote.

P.S. Gif of Mikey on the side

-J xx