Playing With Fire || d.h

84. For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic

A/N: Dan looks like a full-course meal in this photo and it actually makes my heart hurt.

Your POV

"How have you been reacting to the antidepressants?" Doctor Marie asks me. It's a week after our first appointment, and every day since then, she comes here at the same exact time, asking the same exact questions, and I give the same exact answers.

Well, she did tell me a predictable schedule will help with stabilizing my mood. I just didn't know my days would be a copy and paste sort of situation.

"Fine. Although, I've only been on them for a week, so I'm not sure how much of a difference they'd have made by now." She only nods her head, scribbling something on her clipboard.

"Do you feel you're ready to be discharged?" she asks, looking up at me.

"Does that relate to my physical or mental health?" I ask. I mean, it doesn't really matter. I've been here for two weeks now, and they're both shit. The only reason I'm not in a psychiatric hospital is because I barely have the strength to walk to the cafeteria.

"Both," she replies.

"Then, yes," I lie. Even if I'm falling apart, I still believe it would be easier for me to pull myself together in my own home, rather than being constantly stuck looking at these same four walls.

She nods, writing on her clipboard. "Well, I have some good news, then. Your team had a meeting yesterday, and we've agreed that you can most likely be discharged by Thursday."

I cock my head to one side slightly. "What day is it, again?" When you do the same thing everyday, you start to lose track.

"Tuesday," she answers, and smiles as my face instinctively lights up. "You think you'll be ready to leave by then?"

"Bloody hell, I'd be ready to leave right now, if you let me." She smirks, writing something more on her clipboard. When I first met Marie, I thought she was a stone cold bitch, but the longer I'm here, the more I'm starting to warm up to her.

I've actually started to get close with all the people on my team. I guess thats what happens when you spend twenty four hours a day with the same people. They might have a life outside of here, but I don't. Yes, I still had visitors, but they had started coming less and less often. Not because they don't care, but because we're all busy. I have physical therapy, one-on-one counseling, CBT, and I'm always on some sort of drug that knocks me out. Dodie, Dan, and Phil all have YouTube business, and its an hour drive for Macy, which can be pretty costly. Therefore, Ive been getting all my social interaction with the staff, and occasionally, other patients.

"Well, even when you're discharged, it doesn't mean your life's going to go back to normal," she reminds me for the hundredth time. "You'll have to meet with another psychiatrist, and a therapist, and continue with physical therapy. We are also talking about getting you a nutritionist, that you would meet with monthly."

I bite my lip, my palms instantly becoming clammy. "That sounds...expensive." Although I do currently make a lot more money than I used to, and definitely live quite comfortably, I still have the mindset I had when I was a child, and we'd have to wear bread bags over our feet in the winter when we couldn't afford snow boots.

She gives me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, your insurance covers most, if not all, of the costs."(idk if people in the UK even have healthcare insurance, but I'm a lazy American, so whatever).

I nod my head, still a bit anxious. I know from experience, that the hardest part of being in the hospital for awhile is getting used to life once you're discharged. Being in the hospital is the safest, least triggering environment. I've known people who were completely confident they were ready to be discharged, only to be back in inpatient less than twenty four hours later. After living somewhere where you're essentially treated like a child, the real world becomes nearly impossible to return to.