My generation has learned that adults aren't always to be trusted, that adults don't understand or care enough. Yet I couldn't stop myself from sending that e-mail to my counselor, a cry for help. After giving me a brochure and asking me how I was feeling, I went to lunch. I sat with hands shaking, my brain telling me that trusting the system was a mistake, and 7 cold chicken nuggets.
I want to get better, and even if this helps, it's not enough to write down my problems. He always hated the thought of going to therapy, but I'm a open to it, especially now that I don't have anyone to talk to when things get bad. I carry a small pictpicture of him in my wallet, and it has come in handy several times already, yet the thought of him with new scars or just.. gone, is always something that keeps popping up.
I need closure, I need to hear his voice, to know he's still here. I need to tell him I'll wait for him, but god knows when that'll even be a possibility.
Love, AD
