The Misfits

Depression | Estelle & Jake

Estelle's P.O.V

After mom discovered the knife and my cuts and how I was suffering from anorexia [ when I really was just trying to drop weight ], I later found out that she scheduled an appointment with a therapist. I am so effing mad at her.

I dressed into my usual, an oversize shirt, grey sweat pants, a black hoodie, black flip flops, and a messy ponytail. Mom had to practically drag me into the car and then we were on our way. I leaned my head against the window, staring at the buildings and everything zoom past like it was nothing. But in their view, I was nothing.

I am nothing.

I was sure to sigh a lot so that my mom knew that I was still really, really, REALLY mad about the therapist thing. I wasn't depressed, I wasn't anorexic, I wasn't thinking about committing suicide. I was fine, I was okay. I just wanted to feel numb, that's all.

I'm fine.

"Estelle, I want you to know that I am also mad at you. This is going to help you, I want you to get better." She sounded like she was ready to cry, but I didn't say anything, I just sighed again, really loud, to show her that I didn't care.

"Please, work with the therapist so that you get better."

"Why should I get better? When I do get better I'll just get bad again because there isn't anyone but you that actually cares about me!" I snapped, feeling like I was going to cry all over again.

Mom pulled over and looked over at me, her eyes were glistening with tears and they poured down her cheeks, making them blotchy. "Halden and Jake care about you, I know it seems like they don't, but they do. I know that they love you, even if it is as a friend."

"They don't! If they loved me then don't you think that they would maybe call me or something?! Instead, they don't even try to contact me after I call them over and over again!" Tears were running down my cheeks now. I looked away, back out the window and covered my mouth to muffle my sobs.

---

Once I was with the therapist and my mom was outside, waiting for me anxiously, I felt like I was going to die. Literally.

She sat in front of me with a pen and a couple papers on a clipboard. "Rate how you are feeling today, Estelle. On a scale from one to ten, ten being the best and one being the worst."

"Ten." I said sarcastically, glaring.

The therapist, Dr. Jones, sighed. "Please work with me, Estelle. I am only trying to help you."

I took in a deep breath, thinking about how I was really feeling. "Three." I answered untruthfully, I was actually feeling one, but three was only a couple off.

Dr. Jones made a note on her paper when I looked away, but I saw her out of the corner of my eye. "What is making you feel so down?"

I looked up at her and narrowed my eyes, I doubt that she even cared how I was feeling or why I was feeling that way or anything about my life. She has met so many people and listened to everyone's problems, she was probably so sick of all this. I didn't say anything.

"Estelle, I'm begging you. I know that you want to get better, just let me help you." Dr. Jones pleaded.

"Oh I don't know," I said sarcastically. "Maybe because my boyfriend broke up with me, a boy I like told me that he wanted to forget about his kiss after telling me that he loved me more than his girlfriend and then telling me, after saying he wanted to forget about our kiss, that he loved his girlfriend more. And, oh yeah, everyone hates me."

Dr. Jones sighed. "I don't hate you, those two boys do not hate you, and your mother loves you with all her heart-"

"Does she?!" I cried, standing up now. "Does she really?! Because after figuring out that I was cutting myself," I pulled my sleeve up to show all of my cuts, and that's only on one hand. "she sent me to an effing therapist and ran away from me!"